Song of the Serpent
by njchrispatrick
Summary: One little line in a book, that's all it took for Harry's world to fall apart. All it took for him to discover that he might not be as...human...as he once believed. Enigmatic dragons, serpents whispering in the dark, and the mystery of blood. Creature!Harry. Wealsey!bashing, Hermione!bashing, Dumbledore!bashing. NOT SLASH! T for language.
1. Chapter 1

**Jan. 28, 2014**

**A/N: This is just an idea that I have had bouncing around in my head for a while, and I had to put it into writing. No doubt that the updates will be slower than ****_Unwanted Heritage_****, but this one will most likely be a side-note story. You will find that the information is much the same between stories.**

* * *

Harry scowled as he flipped through another book about dragons in preparation for the first task in a few days. Sure, Moody had given him the idea of flying on a broom, but, honestly, he didn't particularly like that idea. Krum was a World Cup Quidditch star, and Harry doubted that _he_ would be using a broom. Besides, it did seem a bit juvenile.

Harry flipped through the Encyclopedia of Magical Creatures as he muttered to himself. Ron was a prat, and Harry was so sick of his inferiority complex and his jealousy. Ron would probably come running back after the first task to apologize and want to be best friends again, and there was no way that Harry was just going to jump back into a friendship. He had thought about it, and Ron had only been holding him back. He had done well in primary school, at least until his relatives decided that they didn't want him outshining their precious 'Dudders'. Harry was a clever child, and he knew it. Ron, however, wasn't, and Harry was often dragged away from work to play chess or Quidditch.

He stopped at the page labeled dragons. There was a picture of a stereotypical dragon, with a summary and list of basic facts. It reminded him a bit of Norbert the Norwegian Ridgeback.

_The dragons are some of the most ancient and noble of all magical species. They date back to the dawn of time. Dragons come in many different breeds, but all are interrelated. A common trait of most dragons is the ability to breathe fire, created by glands in their throat which channel heat from their core. Most dragons have wings, however there are a great many that do not._

_Dragons are closely related to the land snakes and sea serpents. Eastern dragons often bear a resemblance to the sea serpents, and lack wings in favor of a longer, more serpentine body, as well as the ability to traverse aquatic climates. Western ones are more commonly winged and related more to land snakes._

Harry paused when he read the passage. He had never known that dragons could be wingless, or prefer water. However, what really stood out to him was the second paragraph. _Land snakes and sea serpents_. That gave him an idea for the task. Maybe he wouldn't need to use a broom. He had another skill, one which could be fundamentally more useful.

He let a small, satisfied smile curl onto his lips.

* * *

Harry stepped into the enclosure, feeling the weight of apprehension in his stomach. He hadn't told anyone what he planned, because he knew that they would all disapprove. They all encouraged him to ignore his ability, never mind that it was useful. 'Well no more,' he thought wryly.

He walked out toward the middle, where the Hungarian Horntail was crouched down over her eggs. He could see her eyeing him, daring him to come closer. Bagman's obnoxious voice boomed down from above, and he tuned it out in favor of focusing on his task. He quickly cast a fireproofing charm over his clothes before taking another few steps forward.

The dragon reared back, baring her fangs and preparing to incinerate him. He focused on the image of a snake; large, scaly, green, and hissing.

**_:STOP!:_** he hissed loudly. The entire stadium seemed to freeze and silence as the hissing snake language emerged from his mouth. He could feel everyone's eyes on him, but he stayed focused on the dragon, who was still eyeing him, but more curiously than with hostility. It maneuvered itself back a bit, so it was more behind the eggs, with the nest between its forelegs.

**_:I do not wish to harm your eggs.:_** he hissed. The sound echoed around the silent stadium. Bagman wasn't even commentating.

The dragon eyed him speculatively for a moment. **:**_**You are a snake-speaker.:**_ it hissed. It was not a question. He gave a silent thanks to whatever higher force controlled the abilities of animals. He had been worried that he would have the misfortune to choose a dragon which had evolved enough past the level of snake to not be able to speak Parseltongue.

**_:Yes, I received accidentally through another. An attempted murder failed.:_**

The dragon seemed to cock its head curiously at him for a moment before snorting. **_:No, Great One, you did not.:_**

Harry froze as he heard the dragon's words. Now _that _was something which he had not expected. Great One?** _:I do not understand what you mean.:_**

The dragon gave a hissing sound that sounded like laughter. **_:You can speak because you are a Great One, which cannot be transferred through any means.:_**

He frowned at that, and realized that he was standing a bit closer than he would have preferred, but did not back away, so he did not offend her. Parselmouth or not, he had seen what slighted magical creatures could do. Example: Dobby. :**_I am afraid that I do not understand. What is a Great One?:_**

He was startled when the dragon tilted her head up and roared to the sky, flame gushing from her jaws. The fire shot dozens of meters up before fizzling into non-existence. He heard the entire stadium gasp. _**:How could you not know! You are a Great One, a creature of immense power and beauty, the likes of which my kind can barely attest to!: **_she hissed angrily.

Harry stared in shock, his wand arm hung limp at his side. **_:I'm…a what? I'm a…creature?:_**

The dragon's long black tongue flickered through her teeth, tasting the air. **_:I can smell it on you. Great One is our name for you, for the true name is too precious to be spoken. It is not within our rights to do so without your permission. But yes, I can smell it. You most definitely one of them, for you do not smell like these feeble humans. However…it smells…blocked in you, like it is being smothered. I do not like it Great One, it is not natural. Your blood should be singing with the magic of the ancient ways. Instead it is sealed away like prey, and only your snake-speaking ability has slipped through.:_**

Harry wasn't even sure what to think. He was some kind of magical creature, but it was also blocked? Could he unblock it? If so, should he? _§If I give you my permission, can you tell me what I am?§ _The dragon gave a strange sort of nod. :**_Alright then. Erm…I give you permission to speak of me using my name?:_**

The dragon gave another hissing laugh. He heard another collective intake of breath from around the stadium, followed by the whispers of gossip. No doubt this event would be somehow exaggerated and put into the Daily Prophet. Oh well, it wasn't like his reputation could really be shredded more. **_:You are funny, Great One. As for your name, you are the noblest of the ancient creatures. You…are a Lamia.:_**

He frowned. _That_ was not a name he had ever heard before, even in passing. **_:So wait, I'm a…Lamia, but somehow it's…blocked?:_**

**_:Yes, Great One.:_**

**_:Could I unblock it?:_**

**_:Yes.:_**

**_:…Should I unblock it?:_**

The dragon tilted its head and stared at him for a moment. _**:Yes, you should. You are currently inferior to your natural form. You should be free, having the magic soar through your blood like fire, but instead you are held down. Yes, there is no question about it, you most definitely should.:**_

Harry smiled and nodded in thanks. _**:Uh, what is a Lamia?:**_

The dragon snorted smoke through her nostrils. **_:It is truly a travesty how little you know of your heritage. My knowledge of Lamia is incomplete, yet even I know that they are the rulers of all snakes, even above the Basilisk. They possess mighty powers, and reign high over all serpents.:_**

He grimaced a bit; that was essentially what she had said before, with very little new information. It appeared that he would have to research them himself.

Suddenly he realized that he had yet to get the egg. **_:Oh, I was wondering, would it be alright if I had the fake egg that resides in your nest?:_**

**_:Of course. I knew not why they placed it here, so long as it does not harm my other eggs it can stay, but you may have it.:_**

Harry grinned and slowly began to approach. The dragon gave a hissing laugh, and Harry scowled before stalking over and snatching the golden egg. There was yet _another _collective intake of breath at his audacity. He stuck out his tongue at the dragon before walking out of the arena and into the medical tent.

There was silence in the stadium in the stands for a moment before a smattering of applause. However, unlike with the others, this one was coupled with a staccato of whispers.

"Mr. Potter!" cried Madame Pomfrey as he walked in. Before he knew it she had bustled him over to a table besides Cedric. "Dragons, honestly. What is this school coming to?" she paused as she noticed that he seemed to be unharmed. "Wait Mr. Potter, are you even injured at all?"

Harry grinned and shook his head. "Nope," he said cheerfully. "I didn't even use a spell. Well, apart from a fireproofing charm."

Cedric and Madame Pomfrey's eyes widened as they realized that he was, indeed, telling the truth. "H-how is that possible Mr. Potter?" Pomfrey gasped.

He just smirked and shrugged innocently. "Oh, it was easy. I just spoke to it. Did you know that dragons are related enough to snakes to speak Parseltongue? Well I sure didn't!" He grinned like a loon as he watched their faces pale.

Anything else that they might have been preparing to say was cut off as a very flustered Hermione and very pissed Ron came in. They both looked like they had run all the way from the stadium seats, which, knowing them, they probably had.

"Harry!" cried Hermione as she saw him. Then, with the usual amount of Hermione-tact (as in none at all) she jumped right in without and type of consideration for others. "Harry, why did you use Parseltongue? You shouldn't have, it is a Dark ability! Did you see Professor Dumbledore's face? Ooh, he looked so disappointed! You had better go apologize right now and accept a zero for your score."

"Yea mate," said Ron, frowning at him. "Why'd you use bloody _snake_ language? You should've just…I don't know, something else! That was You-Know-Who's ability, and you just used it like…like…like it was a good thing!" he was nearly yelling at the end, face flushed.

Harry felt annoyance curling in his gut, and he honestly questioned himself why he was friends with these fools. "Well hello to you too Ron. By the way _thanks_ for being so supportive of me when my name was entered."

"Oh yea, sorry about that," Ron muttered, ears turning red as he cast his eyes down. Suddenly his gaze snapped up and his eyes widened. "I reckon someone was trying to do you in!"

"You think?" Harry hissed waspishly. "No of course not, you can't handle anything involving that department." He then turned to Hermione. "And you, how _dare_ you reprimand me and tell me what to do! I didn't even want to be in this bloody tournament, and here you go nagging me when I just did what I had to survive! "And you know what else?" he added when she opened her mouth. "Parseltongue is no more Dark than any other language. Any bad reputation it has is because of the fools who ruin its name and use it for evil. So _no_, I have no intention of _apologizing_. As for Dumbledore, screw him. It was his bloody fault that I was entered in this tournament! He was headmaster, he could have done something to stop it, but he didn't! So NO, I will do what I choose to do so, and you will never tell me what to do again. Now. Get. Out. Of. My. Sight. Both of you!" As if to accentuate his point, his magic flared in agitation, shoving the two back.

Madame Pomfrey came hurrying over. "You two are clearly disturbing my patient and you need to leave now. Out. OUT!" With that she pushed them from the tent, sealing the entrance behind them.

Harry slumped back onto the bed, breathing deeply. He was honestly surprised that it had gotten that far; he knew that he was angry, but he never expected that he would lash out so much. But it was true; both Ron and Hermione had overstepped their boundaries. Numerous times, in fact, and he was not going to allow it any longer. He suddenly realized that he felt…freer. A clean slate. He could make new friends, but he had one thing he needed to do first.

_'Just what on Earth is a Lamia?'_

* * *

**A/N: Firstly I want to say, to anyone that has read a Lamia story, this one is NOT SLASH. Or at the very least, it won't be unless I get an overwhelming vote for it. I have a pairing thought up, though this story won't focus much on the romance aspect.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Jan. 29, 2014**

**A/N: Okay, I will definitely not be doing a Slash story. I was hoping that I wouldn't have to, because while there are some very good Slash stories, I doubt that I could ever write one.**

* * *

In the days following his argument with Ron and Hermione, Harry felt...lighter. He hadn't really noticed it before, but those two were always with him. Now, he finally could go places by himself, without having a stalker. IT was certainly a novel experience, and he found that he rather enjoyed it.

People had been eyeing him warily ever since the First Task. His scores were actually rather surprising. Dumbledore, as expected, gave Harry a disapproving frown and a score of four. Bagman seemed conflicted, but ended up giving him a nine, which was surprising. Crouch seemed reluctant, but gave Harry an eight. What really surprised Harry was Madame Maxine, who awarded him a sparkling ten, while Karkaroff gave a six. In all honesty Harry didn't care; he didn't want to be in this tournament, and he was perfectly fine with losing.

While Hogwarts students seemed to be afraid of Harry due to his display of Parseltongue, the foreign schools acted quite the opposite. One of the Durmstrang students came up to him the next day asking for a demonstration, so Harry summoned a snake and had it wind up the boy's arm. The look of wonderment on the older boy's face certainly helped his self-esteem. It was the first time that anyone had viewed his skill as more than a curse, and it was...nice. The Beauxbatons students weren't so forward, though he was on the end of several of their curious glances.

However, any good mood that he might have had disintegrated when, four days after the First Task, he was called to the Headmaster's office. He had been expecting it really; the old man no doubt wanted to talk to him about the use of a 'Dark ability' in front of so many people.

In the past few days, Harry's opinion of Dumbledore had taken a nosedive. He had been combing over his last three years at Hogwarts, and certain things didn't really add up.

Harry had done some research, and apparently all muggleborn students were given a personal visit by a teacher when they received an application letter. Of course, it was easy to see how Harry could have been overlooked; he was actually born magical, even though he was muggle-raised. However, why had he been sent Hagrid? Not that Hagrid wasn't very nice and generally harmless, but the man was a_ groundskeeper_ for the love of Merlin, but he couldn't use magic! Also, Hagrid lacked any sort of subtlety whatsoever, and Harry didn't even know that he was famous, so why him? Hagrid had spent the entire time preaching about the goodness of Dumbledore and the evil of Slytherins. Of course, there had been a fair share of Dark Wizards from Slytherin, but there had been some from every other house as well! Except perhaps Hufflepuff, but even there one might be found if traced back far enough.

When Hagrid forgot to give Harry the instructions about how to get onto the platform, he conveniently found the Weasleys, loudly talking about muggles and the platform number. Harry realized now that it had been a bit fishy. Mrs. Weasley had two children graduated from Hogwarts, and three currently attending, along with having gone herself. Yet, she forgot the platform number? Still, it _could_ happen. But then, when Harry was on the train, Ron came to his compartment asking if he could sit there due to the others being full. Now, Harry had been at the very end, and there were dozens of empty compartments when he passed by before. Hogwarts usually had three times that many students, but the ones currently attending were the war survivors. The train would have to be capable of handling many more of them.

At the opening feast Dumbledore announced to stay away from the third-floor corridor. Really, what kind of person would do that in a room full of children, all of whom were either sneaky, curious, or daring? Only the Hufflepuffs might have listened. An adult would have stayed away, but for a child this was an invitation. Really, how hard would it have been for Dumbledore to cast an age-line in front of the door? Then came the traps themselves; a sleepy three-headed dog, a light-fearing plant, flying keys, a chess board, a logic puzzle, and a giant idiot with a club? Anyone with a brain would have found that simple to beat. Harry absently wondered if there were any students who _had_ gotten down there before being Obliviated.

As for his father's cloak, why did Dumbledore have it in the first place? Even if he had been given it, he should have returned it the moment Harry got to the school; instead he waited until Christmas. How was it his place to decide when Harry should be given his own possessions? He constantly seemed to be poking his sticky little fingers into Harry's personal business, and he didn't seem inclined to stop. That thought was confirmed a few minutes later when he entered the Headmaster's office.

"Ah, Harry my boy!" said Dumbledore jovially from his desk. However, Harry didn't really notice him; he was too busy glaring at Ron and Hermione, who were both seated in plush chairs in front if the Headmaster's desk. Hermione was smiling cheerfully at Dumbledore, while Ron was eyeing the bowl of lemon candies on the desk with a greedy eye.

'When did I give him permission to address me by my first name?' thought Harry. "Hello Headmaster," he said calmly, sitting down in the chair across from Ron and Hermione, totally ignoring them. "What did you need?"

Dumbledore blinked in surprise at his abruptness, and Hermione shot Harry a disapproving glare. However, after a moment he smiled again, the twinkle in his eyes slightly lessened. Harry could see several of the portraits watching them, not even bothering to pretend to sleep. "No need to be so quick-to-the-point my boy. Lemon drop?" The bowl of lemon drops was suddenly shoved into his face, and he wrinkled his nose as he pushed them away.

"No thanks sir, I really don't do sour candies," said Harry as he eyed the bowl. He saw Ron glaring at him, no doubt wishing that _he_ would be offered candy. Ugh, Ron was such a glutton.

Dumbledore sighed and moved the candies to the side before folding his hands and leaning forwards slightly. He eyed Harry for a moment before speaking. "I came up here to talk about your little spat with your friends. Why have you pushed them away Harry? You know that you need company."

Harry's eyes narrowed. "Pardon my Headmaster, but really, how is it any of your business who my friends are? I can make friends with whomever I choose."

Dumbledore looked entirely shocked at the comment, and his calm façade was broken. Hermione puffed up slightly in rage. "Harry! How dare you speak to Professor Dumbledore like that! He invited you here to speak to him, and you are insulting him! He is our headmaster, and the most powerful wizard in the world!" Her hair seemed to have gotten frizzier in her agitation, and Harry was suddenly forcibly reminded of Mrs. Weasley on a rant.

Harry just raised an eyebrow at her, but otherwise didn't react. Usually he would have been thoroughly cowed, and most likely apologized profusely, but he had no desire to be that meek little boy anymore. "My, really getting on your soap box, aren't you Granger?" She stared at him, shocked as he addressed her by her surname. "Who are you to tell me what to do? You are just another student in the school, and yet you act like it is your place to tell me how to run my life. Also, for the record, he probably is _not_ the most powerful wizard in the world. As far as I have seen, that title could go to a few people. Voldemort isn't even half Dumbledore's age, and yet he is already on his level. Nicholas Flamel was hundreds of years old; no doubt he is a better wizard." Harry realized that he had stood up sometime in the conversation, and he sat down again.

Dumbledore seemed a bit shocked, but then his face morphed into a sad, disappointed frown. "Now Harry, was that really the way you want to treat your best friend? Ms. Granger only wants the best for you. You should just apologize for this whole mess and be on your way. Also, in the future, you should really avoid using Parseltongue, considering it is Voldemort's ability." He reached over to the bowl and snagged a lemon drop, popping it into his mouth. "Just apologize and you all can forget this every happened."

Harry nearly growled at the old man; he just wasn't listening! Harry had no intention of _ever_ making up with his two former friends. "Not a chance." He felt vindictive satisfaction as Dumbledore coughed on the lemon drop. "You once told me that our choices determine who we are, and you know what? I am making a choice now: we are no longer, nor will we ever be, friends again. Don't talk to me; don't try to tell me what to do. As for Parseltongue, I am making a choice about that as well: it is a useful skill, and I will not toss it aside for no reason other than public opinion." He stood and walked right past them to the door. As he opened it he turned back to look at Dumbledore. "Also, from now on, call me Mr. Potter. We are not associated in any way other than teacher and student, and I do not want you pretending otherwise." With that he strode out the door and shut it firmly with a _click_.

Harry grinned to himself as he bounced down the steps leading up the Headmasters office. He had done it! He had really stood up to Dumbledore! Really, did the old fart honestly believe that Harry would just bend to his wishes if he waggled his finger disapprovingly and gave him a sad look? Although, it had probably worked before. The idea of throwing one of Dumbles's own quotes back at him had been a very spur-of-the-moment thing, but it really did get the point across. Besides, the _audacity_ of him to try to control Harry's friendships. It made Harry wonder if they reported on him.

Any further thoughts were interrupted as Harry suddenly collided with someone coming around the corner. The person shrieked with shock and stumbled backwards, and Harry instinctively reached out to grab their arms and pull them back. This, however, led to them being uncomfortably close.

Harry found himself looking into a young girl's bright blue eyes, framed with a curtain of silvery-blonde hair reminiscent of Malfoy. She looked about eight, and just almost reached his chin (which was a truly sad testament to his own physique). She was wearing a Beauxbatons uniform, however she looked much too young to be a champion. A relative, perhaps? "Er…high," he said slowly, still frozen in place. "Sorry about that."

Suddenly the girl let out a squeak and jumped back, blushing profusely. He smiled at her before reaching down to pick up the book she dropped and handing it to her. He couldn't read the title; it was French. "Here you go," he said with a smile. The girl blushed deeper before saying something in French. He shook his head slightly. "Sorry," he said. "I don't understand."

Her eyes widened before she nodded as she apparently realized what he meant. "Gabrielle Delacour," she said, gesturing to herself.

"Harry Potter," he said, pointing at himself. Her eyes got so wide they looked like they would pop out, before she turned and shot down the hallway from which she had just come. He laughed to himself and continued on his way; no doubt she was humiliated for having embarrassed herself.

* * *

Harry spent the rest of the week researching Lamias in his spare time, which he now had a surprisingly large amount of. He had never realized how much time was wasted with Ron playing chess, or Hermione in the library. Not that he didn't like the library; no, he did, but Hermione was so nosy that he couldn't just pick out his own books, at least until now.

Another thing was that his performance in class increased. Not unbelievably so, but he did notice an improvement on the practical portion. He attributed it to the fact the he was sitting with Neville, who didn't talk much, and so instead Harry was able to focus on the spells better. He was truly surprised when he transfigured his goblet into a statue of a snake, complete with scales, on the first try.

He had hung out with Neville a few times, and he found that he rather enjoyed the boy's company. Neville had been rather isolated through the previous years, but he was very nice underneath the shy exterior. Even better was that he didn't pry; he and Harry had been sitting in the library, and Harry was reading a book called _Advanced Dark Creatures_ as he looked for information on the Lamia. Ron and Hermione would have nagged him about why he had such a 'Dark' book, however, Neville merely shrugged and returned to his Charms essay. His response when Harry asked him helped Harry's trust in him grow. "It really isn't any of my business," Neville had said. "If you do something which makes me worried about your safety then I will ask, but other than that it is none of my business."

Harry had just stared at him before smiling widely. "You know Neville," he said. "I think that you have done more for me than anyone else in the entire wizarding world."

"Really?" asked Neville, completely overwhelmed. "What do you mean by that?"

"It is quite simple," said Harry, turning back to his book. "You actually respected that I am my own person. For everyone else I have just been the 'Boy-Who-Lived', vanquisher of He-Whose-Name-Must-Be-Hyphenated."

That had truly surprised Neville; he had always thought that Harry had lots of people he could trust in, but really very few must have been truly trust_worthy_. 'And I'll make sure that Harry doesn't regret trusting me,' Neville thought to himself. 'I promise.'


	3. Chapter 3

It was the next day, ironically, that Harry finally stumbled across what he had been looking for. It was in a book called _Greatest Magical Beings_, which talked about the most powerful beings in history, be they human or wizard. It was in the very back, and listed under 'Extremely Rare'.

"Ha!" cried Harry as he found what he was looking for. "I've found it!" He was immediately silenced as Madam Pince came swooping over like a vulture, obviously looking for whatever culprit had dared to speak loudly in her library.

"What did you find Harry?" asked Neville as soon as Madam Pince was far enough away.

Harry looked up at him, debating the thought of telling him. "Alright Neville," he said finally. "I trust you."

Neville smiled widely; he had never had someone else trust him before. He had been raised by his grandmother and, while nice enough, she seemed to be trying to mold him into his father. All his family members were a fair bit older than him, or (like his Uncle Algie who had dropped him out a window) off their rocker. Harry began to read from the book quietly, mindful of Pince.

_Lamia are some of the most mysterious magical creatures in existence. There have only been a few recorded Lamia, and it is unknown if any of them were part of a greater community. All information provided is thanks to Aurela Sessia Lamas, herself a Lamia._

_A Lamia is created when the egg of a magical serpent is left in stasis in an area of concentrated magic. However, only a certain species of snake is able to handle the influx of magic, and many will die. The only snakes with the ability to be turned into Lamia are female Basilisks. Basilisks can be created by hatching a chicken's egg under a toad, however, for an egg to be able to birth a Lamia it must be at least a third-generation female basilisk egg; that is to say, the most recent 'created Basilisk' in its line must be no closer than its grandparents._

_Lamia have two forms of appearance. One is their humanoid form, which is often indistinguishable from any other human. However, even in human form, Lamia possess their unique eye colors and occasionally hair. Their other form is their half-snake form. Starting just at the waist, the skin shifts into tiny scales of light green, which gradually become larger and greener in the space of a few centimeters. The body then transitions to a snake tail the same size as the waist, which is used for movement. In their half-snake form, their pupils become elongated like a snake's, and their teeth lengthen and sharpen._

_It is rare for a Lamia to possess the abilities of the Basilisk aside from their venom; however, it can occasionally happen. The 'Death Sight' is controlled by secondary eyelids, which can be closed consciously. The venom of a Lamia is actually more potent than the venom of a Basilisk, and can even be used like acid. In their humanoid form Lamia also possess a powerful allure, not unlike the Veela, made to draw in their prey. They also are all Parselmouths, due to their serpent heritage._

_While Lamia can only be created as females, they can in fact be born males. Lamia, just like Veela, are fully compatible with humans in their humanoid form. Male Lamia will often possess hair of a deep red hue, much like how the male Basilisk possesses a red plume. It is also more common for the males to have the 'Death Sight' than the females. The allure of a male Lamia will attract females much in the same way the females attract males. The entire purpose of the allure is to seduce a member of the opposite sex and then to devour them. Unlike Veela, when a Lamia breeds with a human the child either will be or won't be one; it is not possible to be a 'half Lamia' or 'quarter Lamia'._

Harry grinned as he looked up. "This is what I've been looking for, Neville! Lamia!"

Neville just stared at him a bit blankly. "Wow Harry. Uh…why are you looking into Lamia?"

Harry paused. Should he tell Neville? Neville had managed to prove, just in a few days, what a better friend he was than Ron and Hermione, who had been his 'best friends' for years. Besides, Neville had proven to be far less prying, and he doubted that Neville was prejudiced. "Do you remember the First Task, when I spoke to the dragon?" Neville nodded. "Well, according to the dragon, _I_ am a Lamia."

Neville's eyes got really wide and his mouth dropped open into a perfect 'O'. "Y-you're a Lamia? But how? You don't look anything like they said. James Potter wasn't a Lamia, because I'm sure that someone would have noticed, and Lily was a muggleborn!"

Harry blinked and re-read the line in the book that said that. "Oh…you're right. Well, I'm not sure. The dragon mentioned that it was blocked or something. Something about my blood smelling smothered."

Neville closed his book quietly and set it down. "Blocked? That sounds a bit like the Idione Suppressor. My grandmother told me about it once when I asked if the Malfoys were Veela." He shot Harry a grin. "I had just met a Veela for the first time, and the hair made me wonder. Anyway, she told me that a few decades ago, the Malfoy heir married a Veela. Their son was a half-Veela, and he had the hair. Well, the Malfoy Lord didn't want 'filthy creature blood' in his heir's son, so he had a powerful magical block placed on the boy. It basically took his Veela magic and put it into hibernation. The boy's magic was never awakened. The hair, however, was still visible, and that was passed down."

"Wow," said Harry. "So…does that mean that I might be a blocked Lamia?"

Neville shrugged. "I don't know. It would mean that one of your parents was a blocked Lamia, most likely." He paused for a moment. "Maybe your mother was adopted?"

Harry thought back to the pictures he had seen of his mother. She had a beautiful figure, lustrous scarlet hair, a radiant smile, and almost unnatural green eyes. On the contrary, Petunia was bony, blonde, had a long giraffe's neck, and dull blue eyes. "I don't know, maybe. If…if I wanted to unblock it…would you still want to be my friend?"

"Of course!" said Neville firmly. He wasn't sure why Harry believed himself to be so unlikable; his self-esteem must be extremely low. "I don't hold anything against magical creatures…unless they try to eat me." He added.

Harry smiled at him, a true smile, one that he rarely gave. "Thanks Neville, really. Erm…do you know where I could go to get the…Iodine Block removed?"

"Idione Suppressor," Neville corrected, his lips twitching at the mispronunciation. "Well, the block is actually blood magic, which the Ministry has labeled as illegal. If you tried to get a warrant to do it, they would require a reason, and you would probably end up being paraded around as the Ministry's poster boy. Even better for them if you are one of the last, or possible _the last_ of a species." He tapped his chin in thought, looking very much unlike he did when he blew up potion cauldrons. "Maybe Gringotts. The Ministry laws don't apply there, because Gringotts operates as a third party. For the correct amount of gold, they'll do anything. I'm sure for them, dissolving a block like that will be simple. Actually, you should probably also get a lineage test done, so you can see if your mother actually was adopted."

Harry's head was swimming with information. "Thanks Neville, you have been a huge help. Now I just have to find out when to go to Gringotts."

"We have a Hogsmeade weekend tomorrow," Neville added helpfully. "You can floo to Diagon Alley from there. I'm sure that Madam Rosmerta wouldn't mind. Or you can go to McGonagall, but Gran told me that she is in Dumbledore's pocket." When Harry had told Neville about his suspicions involving Dumbledore, and what Dumbledore had done, Neville had been furious. According to his Gran, Dumbledore had been the one to convince his parents that the Fidelius Charm was unnecessary, which had led to their confinement in Mungo's permanent ward.

"I think I'll do that Neville, thanks a million for your help." Harry took a deep breath and slumped down in his chair. Tomorrow was the big day; it was when he found out just who he really was.

* * *

"Wake up Harry!"

This was the only warning that Harry got before he suddenly felt his blankets be ripped away from him. He let a thoroughly un-manly shriek as he was suddenly assaulted by the frigid air. "NEVILLE!"

Neville just laughed as he watched Harry curl up into a ball. Seamus and Dean were grinning as they watched Harry, while Ron was shoving his clothes on, not even caring if they were wrinkled, and ignoring them. "Come on Harry," said Neville. "You know what today is." He was, of course, talking about their little expedition to Gringotts, but the others didn't need to know about that.

Harry's eyes snapped open as he remembered and he quickly jumped out of bed and began to gather his clothes together. "I'm coming, I'm coming!" he said as he dashed into the bathroom.

Neville laughed again. "I'll meet you in the Great Hall, Harry."

Fifteen minutes later it was a very flustered Harry Potter who came hurrying into the Great Hall, and sat down at the end of the table across from Neville. Everyone else had sensed the dissolving of the 'Golden Trio', and the policy involving Ron and Hermione had changed.

Ron and Hermione were only really tolerated due to Harry. For everyone else, Ron was a lazy, stupid, useless git that always tried to cheat off of other's work. Hermione was the know-it-all who constantly compared the wizarding world to the muggle world, and who had a good memory. She wasn't actually as brilliant as she advertised; she just was able to memorize the textbooks.

"Record time Harry," Neville said with a smile. "Rather impressive. Though, your shirt seems to be backwards, but it really doesn't matter." Harry grasped his shirt to check and Neville laughed. "I'm just kidding Harry. Anyway, eat so we can head down before the crowds start."

Harry nodded and snagged an apple. "Ready when you are."

Neville snorted and rolled his eyes, but he could see where Harry was coming from. Harry had no ties to his family, and here was his first chance to really have a connection like that. Neville was lucky enough (he thought) to have family alive. He wished that he had magical portraits of them, but the ones that they had made had been hidden, and no one knew where. He wondered if Harry's parents had made anything like that. He finished off his bowl of cereal and stood. "Well then, off we go."

They hurried down to the gate, where Filch was standing and holding a list. He sneered at them. "Potter and Longbottom, eh?" He scowled as he made enormous slashes over their names. "Fine," he spat. "Go on, get."

They hurried past him and into the village, which was surprisingly quiet, seeing as only a few students were there, milling around the shops. Harry and Neville headed directly for the Three Broomsticks. There was only an older couple there; it was too early in the morning for much business.

"Madam Rosmerta?" Harry asked as he walked over the counter.

The top-heavy witch turned from where she was arranging Butterbeer bottles to smile at him widely. "Harry Potter! Wonderful to see you! Any Mr. Longbottom as well! Why, I remember when both of your fathers would come in here to get a drink. What can I do for you?"

Harry and Neville both smiled at the mention of their respective fathers. "Actually, we didn't come here for a drink. I was wondering if I could ask a favor." She nodded at him encouragingly. "Well…I have some business I need to attend to at Gringotts, and I can't apparate, so…"

"You want to know if you can use my floo?" He nodded, and she grinned even more widely. "Such polite boys. Of course you can, just follow me." She turned and walked down a small hallway next to the counter. After a quick glance at each other they followed her. She let them to a room with some chairs and a large fireplace. "Here you are. Floo powder is in the jar on the mantle." She gave them a small wave before heading back down the hallway.

"Well, here goes," said Harry. He reached his hand in to scoop out a handful of powder, then held the jar out for Neville. Neville looked at him in bewilderment, and Harry raised an eyebrow. "You really think that I would just leave you here? You're my friend, and no doubt your support would help." He paused and grinned sheepishly. "Unless you have something that you need to do, then you should stay-"

"No," interrupted Neville. "I'd be happy to come. I just thought…you know…since this was something for your family you might want to be alone."

"Neville, you're my friend. No, scratch that, my _best_ friend. In my book that _is_ family."

Neville gave him a slightly teary smile and nodded, taking a handful of floo powder out of the flames. "The Leaky Cauldron," he shouted, tossing the handful of powder in. The green flames billowed up, and he stepped right in. He only had to wait in the pub for a moment before Harry exited, covered in soot just like Neville. They both jumped as the soot was suddenly vanished.

"There you go boys," said Tom with a smile. "Just thought you wouldn't want to be covered with soot as you traveled through the Alley."

They thanked him and then both headed out to the back alley where the entrance lay. "Why is this wall here?" asked Harry. "I mean…only wizards can even _see_ the pub, so why add a secret entrance within a secret entrance?"

Neville nodded. "I know it seems ridiculous, but it was actually added when Grindelwald came to power. If there is ever an attack on either the muggle side or the wizarding side, this wall will seal and protect the only entrance between both worlds."

Harry's eyes widened in comprehension as Neville tapped the bricks. "Oh." His face shifted into a grin as he watched the bricks re-arrange themselves into an arch. "I'll never get tired of seeing this," he said.

He headed down the alley towards Gringotts, with Neville following behind him. He made sure to cover his scar; no doubt it would be reported in the Prophet if he was breaking school rules to go to Gringotts, and he would be inundated with questions as to what he was doing there.

The armored goblins by the door sneered at them as they walked by. When they got inside Harry wasn't sure where to go, but Neville snagged his arm and dragged him over to the teller marked 'Inheritance'.

"Harry Potter here for a heritage test and blood unbinding," said Neville, straight to the point. Harry thought it seemed a bit rude, but the goblin nodded and turned to look at Harry.

"We will need proof of identification. Do you have your key?"

Harry shook his head. "Uh…no. I didn't know I would need it."

The goblin's eyes narrowed. "Then will you consent to a blood test? We use your blood to confirm your identity, and it can also be used for a heritage test." Harry nodded, and the goblin hopped down from its chair and began to head down the hallway behind it. "Follow me."

Harry and Neville hurried after the goblin, which was surprisingly fast despite his short legs. The hallway was white marble, and there were several large doors, like 'Claims', 'Debts', and 'Loans'. They followed the goblin into a door marked 'Inheritance', just like his desk. The goblin sat and gestured to the seats in front of him.

He snapped his fingers and a silver knife and bowl lined with several jewels appeared on the edge of the desk. "Mr. Potter, please slice your finger and drip three drops of blood into the bowl." Harry eyed the knife nervously, but picked it up and made a shallow cut on his finger. He pinched the end, letting three dark drops land in the bowl. He raised his finger to his lips to suck on the cut, but it was already healed. "Alright," said the goblin. "You are confirmed as Harry James Potter." The goblin folded his hands on the desk and peered at him. "You claim to want a heritage test and a blood unbinding?"

Harry nodded. "I was recently told that I have creature blood in me, and I would like it unbound, if it is there."

The goblin (apparently named Sharptooth, according to his nameplate) nodded and pulled a sheet of white parchment from his desk. He then took the bowl, ran his fingers over a sapphire and ruby on the side, and poured the blood onto it. "This test will show the last three generations of your family, Mr. Potter. Anything more than that will be an extra ten galleons for every five generations. It will also show the species of them."

Harry nodded absently, already focusing on the sheet of parchment. His blood was flowing freely over the page, weaving itself into lines and names.

_Hadrian James Caledon Potter_

_(Lamia-blocked)_

_Father_

_James Charlus Potter_

_(Human)_

_Mother_

_Lily Adriana Potter n__é_e Lamas

_(Lamia-blocked)_

_Paternal Grandfather_

_Charlus Leonard Potter_

_(Human) _

_Paternal Grandmother_

_Dorea Elladora Potter_

_(Human)_

_Maternal Grandfather_

_Caledon Aries Lamas_

_(Lamia) _

_Maternal Grandmother_

_Medea Calypso Lamas_

_(Half-Human Half-Faerie)_


	4. Chapter 4

Harry wasn't even sure where to start as he stared at the sheet. His name wasn't even Harry? Well it was, but that was only a nickname. How many times had he wished that his name was something more unique? He even had two middle names, one for his father and one for his grandfather. Grandfather! Apparently, his grandfather had been a Lamia as well, while his grandmother had been…half faerie? Whatever that meant. Their names all sounded very Greek, and the book he had read had named their source as Aurela Sessia Lamas, who, according to the test, had the same last name as his mother's family, so she probably was family. He finally had real family, with names to go with them, even if they were dead.

"Harry? What is it?" asked Neville. Harry just shook his head and handed Neville the parchment. He gave a long, low whistle. "Wow. I guess this answers our question of whether or not your mother was adopted, huh? So your real name is Hadrian James Caledon Potter. I always did find it a bit weird that your parents would give you such a common name as 'Harry'." He handed the sheet back to Harry.

"Would you like to perform a blood unbinding ritual?" Sharptooth asked, banishing the bowl and knife. "Now that we know what species you are, we can be assured of your survival."

Harry blinked and stared at Sharptooth for a moment before nodding. "I-yes, I would like that. How long will it take?"

Sharptooth stood from his chair and walked back towards the door. "It shouldn't take more than ten minutes to perform the ritual and destroy the bindings, especially considering that they were merely transferred to you via your mother. Lamia are far different than most magical creatures, and highly resistant to blocks such as this. No doubt if you hadn't come to us then it would have come off in about five years; however, it would have been a very painful process, and have taken several months. This ritual will only be painful for a few minutes."

Neville eyed Harry nervously, but they followed the goblin back down the hall. He turned left at a corridor which they had passed earlier, and he headed for a door marked 'Rituals'. Inside was a large room made entirely of black marble, with light coming from torches on the wall. In the middle of the room was a large white circle, with a black stone dais raised a little bit off of the ground.

"Remove all constricting clothing and lay down on the dais, please," intoned Sharptooth as he began to draw runes just outside the circle. When he saw Harry standing there looking uncomfortable he sighed in annoyance. "Mr. Potter, Lamia have a snake-like body. Your entire anatomy will change, and any clothing in the way will cause unnecessary pain and constriction. If you absolutely need clothing, wear your outer robes, however, be sure to remove any pants or undergarments. Even a shirt should be removed."

Harry blushed heavily but began to remove his pants and underwear, though he did keep his robe over himself, so that he wouldn't be naked. He did have to pull his arms in to remove his shirt, but he managed to get all clothing besides the robe off. He was very happy that he had chosen to wear a closed robe today.

Neville eyed Harry's clothes with distaste. He had seen them before, but he never understood why Harry wore rags like that. "Harry, why do you wear such ratty clothes? They look like they belong to Hagrid, not to you."

Harry blushed slightly as he lightly kicked the pile of rags on the floor. "Well…I grew up with my muggle relatives, and they were…averse to buying me clothes. They gave me my cousin's old clothes, and Dudley looks like a gargantuan blonde pig."

"Well that changes now," said Neville firmly. "After this I am going to take you to get some nicer clothing at Madame Malkin's, and don't you dare argue against it." Harry gave Neville a thankful smile.

"It's done," Sharptooth said. Now there were dozens of runes written outside of the white circle, and they were pulsing with color. Harry walked over to the dais and laid back on it, making sure that his robe was covering him. Sharptooth began to chant in a guttural language that Harry assumed was Gobbledygook. Suddenly Harry felt a twinge in his stomach, followed by what felt like acid racing through his veins, and his world exploded in pain. He heard screaming; maybe it was him who was screaming. His legs felt like they were on fire, and he imagined that this must be what the Cruciatus felt like.

After what felt like an eternity the pain ended, and he was honestly surprised that he was still conscious. He cracked on eye open after a moment, breathing heavily. His vision swam in and out of focus.

"-rry? Harry? Please, please be alright! HARRY!"

Harry winced as he felt Neville's voice slam into his battered eardrums. Apparently Neville saw his wince, because he heard a sigh of relief. "Thank Merlin, you're alive. I was so worried…"

"I'm okay," croaked Harry. When he heard his voice his other eye snapped open, and his eyes widened. "What the hell? Is that my voice?"

Neville was above him, grinning slightly. "Yea, it is. That isn't the only thing different. Hold on, let me get your glasses; you lost them during your seizure."

Harry's hand went to his face, and Neville was correct, Harry wasn't wearing them. "Wait Neville, I…I don't need them. I can see!" He was again a bit shocked by his voice. It was still _his_; however, it was deeper, more masculine, like someone a bit older than him, and far more attractive. It was a little bit like Sirius's actually, although Sirius's voice was a bit more gravelly, while Harry's was smooth.

"Of course not Mr. Potter," said Sharptooth. Harry turned to look at him, and was shocked to see the goblin _smiling_ at him, which was somehow even more terrifying than a sneer. "The need for glasses is a human ailment, and you are most assuredly no longer human."

"Yea Harry," said Neville. He was smiling at Harry encouragingly. "Look at your legs."

Harry pushed himself up into sitting position, with a little help from Neville. However, what he saw shocked him. He no longer had legs; no, he had a _tail_. It was a dark forest green, as thick as his waist, and emerged from the bottom of his robe before continuing for about seven feet and narrowing down to a blunt point, curling around the dais.

"Dear Merlin," he breathed as he stared at it. He looked at Neville, who was inspecting the end nearest to them.

"It's actually pretty cool," said Neville. "And if the book is correct, then you can change it into legs. Try it; we can't go back to Hogwarts like this. Well, we could, but you would have even more unwanted attention."

Harry nodded and stared at the tail, focusing on his legs. He thought of it like transfiguration; know what you want, and then force your magic to change it into that. His tail suddenly began to retract and blur, and then it peeled apart, leaving two legs. He grinned up at Neville, who helped pull him to his feet. The first thing he noticed was that his balance of gravity was off; he staggered and nearly fell, except Neville held him steady. The second thing he noticed was that he was a fair bit _taller_. In fact, he was taller than Neville. "Um…do you have a mirror?" he asked Sharptooth. Sharptooth gestured to one wall, where it was hanging.

"I asked him to summon it while you were unconscious," Neville added helpfully. "I figured that you would want to see the changes. I gotta say, I think that you'll like it. The girls will be all over you even more now."

'What does that mean?' Harry thought as he stumbled over to the mirror. Then he saw his reflection and realized why. He was _hot_. He no longer looked like an underfed thirteen-year-old, now he looked like a very healthy sixteen-year-old. His pasty skin was gone, replaced with a healthy tan, the kind he never seemed to be able to get from the Dursley's housework, even with hours in the sun. His once untamable messy black hair now seemed to be more of a dark blood-red, though it would look black from a distance, and the 'messy' look had now degenerated into a thick wave, which would look very nice if he brushed it. His facial structure had changed a bit as well; his jawline was more defined, his nose less button-y, and his brow was a bit higher as well. His green eyes were now slightly luminescent, and framed by thick dark eyelashes. He honestly looked more like a male supermodel than he did Harry Potter.

"You know," said Neville, smirking at Harry's shocked face in the mirror. "That, plus the allure that you will have, will probably bring every girl from all three schools directly to you." His grin widened as Harry groaned. "Also, we're having a Yule Ball this year, so I'm sure that you'll get _plenty_ of requests."

Harry groaned and put a hand onto his face. However, any future self-pity movements were interrupted as Sharptooth spoke up. "Mr. Potter, the manager of you accounts, Bloodfang, has found out that you are here and would like to speak to you. What should I tell him?"

Harry turned away from where he was examining himself in the mirror to look at Sharptooth. "Account manager? I've never spoken to him, so um…sure, that would be fine. Just let me get my clothes back on." He quickly re-dressed himself in his cousin's old clothes, with Neville shaking his head.

Sharptooth nodded and gestured with a long crooked finger. "Follow me."

Harry and Neville again set off after him in another game of 'follow-the-leader', with Harry occasionally being steadied by Neville. He wasn't yet used to his new height and the sudden length of his legs and torso were throwing him off-balance. He was rather curious about his snake form, but he didn't really want to look like a fool when he first met his account manager.

Sharptooth let them into the office of another goblin. This one had a large crest above his workplace, which Harry didn't recognize. However, underneath it had the word _Potter_, so he figured that it must be his family's crest.

Sharptooth left immediately, while Harry and Neville took their seats. Bloodfang glared at him for a moment before speaking, with barely concealed hostility. "Mr. Potter, I am rather surprised that you agreed to a meeting. This is, after all, the first time in the three years that I have been trying to contact you that you have responded."

Harry's jaw dropped. "W-what? Three years? I've never received any contact from Gringotts! I didn't even know that I had an account manager!"

Bloodfang's eyes widened slightly. "Is that so?" He looked over at a small crystal sphere sitting in a golden harness on his desk. Harry didn't notice anything. "This is a Sphere of Truth, Mr. Potter. It will light up red whenever a lie is spoken near it, and blue whenever a half-truth is. Apparently, you are telling the truth." Bloodfang reached into his desk and pulled out a sheet of parchment, much like Sharptooth had earlier. "Considering that you have never known about me, can you please verify that these vault withdrawal statements are, in fact, correct?"

Harry took the parchment and read it.

_Withdrawals from Vault 687 ~ Potter Trust Vault #1_

_November 3__rd__, 1981: Potter Invisibility Cloak_

_July 31__st__, 1991: 21 galleons, 13 sickles, 7 knuts_

_August 11__th__, 1992: 1000 galleons_

_July 27__th__, 1993: 53 galleons, 17 sickles_

Harry's jaw dropped at the first and third statements. "W-what? No! I only withdrew the amount in 1991, for my school supplies, and the amount last year, for the same! The first one was just after my parents were killed, and the other…was when Mrs. Weasley offered to pick up my money for school supplies." His face fell as he realized just what she had done. "I can't believe it," he whispered.

Bloodfang's eyes were alight with fury. "Stolen! Possessions stolen from the Potter Trust Vault! In that case, I assume that you did not authorize the gold transfers to Vault 891 and 892, belonging to Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley, either?"

Harry's face quickly morphed from sad to furious. "WHAT! How dare they! Who authorized that!"

Bloodfang's eyes narrowed and he growled as he spoke. "Albus Dumbledore, under the guise of your 'magical guardian'."

Suddenly a wave of magic exploded from Harry, shattering the Truth Orb on Bloodfang's desk, and setting many of the weapons lining the walls shooting across the room. **_:How dare they!:_**

"Harry!" cried Neville, grabbing his friend's arm. "Calm down! Trashing the office won't help!"

Harry took a deep calming breath. Then he realized what he had done and winced. "Bloodfang, I'm so sorry! I didn't mean-"

"It's quite alright Mr. Potter," said Bloodfang dismissively. "I quite understand your anger, and we will rectify this. The gold transferred to the vaults is all still there; none has been used yet, and we can have it all returned. We are unfortunately unable to track the money removed directly from your fault. However, seeing as Albus Dumbledore was stealing from you, we will be able to fine him more than twice that number."

"Good," said Harry, nodding his head firmly. Neville nodded in agreement. "As for the Invisibility Cloak, I actually have that in my possession already. By the way, what does it mean where it says 'Trust Vault'?"

"Oh, I can answer that," Neville declared. "I have one as well; so do most of the pureblood heirs. The Trust Vault is the vault that you are allowed to remove money from until you are of age and allowed to take on the mantle of Head of your house."

Harry nodded in realization. "Alright then." He looked over at Bloodfang, who was scribbling furiously on a sheet of parchment. "Erm…Bloodfang, so you need me for anything else?"

"No," said Bloodfang, not even looking up at them. "You can go. Sharptooth will be waiting outside to take you to the entrance."

Harry and Neville nodded and headed for the door. Indeed, Sharptooth was waiting outside and just to the right of the door. When he saw them exit he beckoned for them to follow and lead them straight back to where they had come from.

"Well, that was extremely informative," said Harry as they walked back out into the glaring sunlight. "I honestly shouldn't be surprised to which the lengths Dumbledore has gone to endear me to him. Do you know that he gave me my cloak as a Christmas gift? He said that my father had left it in his possession before he died. Honestly."

"Yea, I can't believe _that_ is the man who run our school," agreed Neville. He suddenly stopped and snagged Harry's arm, dragging him towards Madam Malkin's. "I told you Harry, now it is time to get you some new clothes."

One hour and several blushing witches handing him their floo addresses later, a very red-faced Harry Potter stumbled out of the store, shopping purchases either on him or shrunk in his pocket, and Neville roaring with laughter beside him.

"D-did you s-see their faces w-when you walked in?" gasped Neville, breathless from laughing so hard. "They acted like you were the second coming of Merlin! Ha!"

Harry just scowled, fully aware that his face was probably very red. "I'm glad that _you_ found it funny. That blonde seamstress groped me like three times in the first ten minutes." However, he couldn't find the energy to stay angry at Neville. Besides, it _had_ been really funny. From an outside perspective of course.

They had just entered the Leaky Cauldron and were just heading to the fireplace when Neville snagged Harry arm. "Wait," he hissed. He nodded towards one of the booths. Harry looked over and could see the unmistakable figure of Rita Skeeter, who was speaking to that deplorable quill of hers. "Look," said Neville. "You are obviously different, and there is no way that you will be able to suppress that allure of yours without a lot of practice, and even then I have heard it is hard. You need to find some way of getting it out there before rumors start. I know Rita is deplorable, however, if the story is good enough then she will write it truthfully. Maybe give her an ultimatum."

Harry gave Neville a wide grin as he realized the truth in that statement. He sauntered over to the booth, and slid in across from Rita.

* * *

Rita had been plotting up a juicy article about Ludo Bagmen when she suddenly heard someone slide into the booth across from her. She looked up and saw the most unbelievably handsome man that she had ever met, followed by a much less handsome boy who was with him. She felt his allure swimming around her, though she was able to shut it out through years of practice interviewing Veela.

"Hello Rita," the boy said with a charming smile which would have turned lesser woman to goo. "I'm sure you know me. I'm Harry Potter, and I have a proposition for you.

Any ideas that she had for Ludo Bagman went out the window as she stared at this drastically different Harry Potter. With the new look and allure, she would wager a guess that he was a Veela, however, he lacked the typical silvery-blonde hair. "Harry Potter, what a pleasure," she said, giving him a toothy smile. "What do you mean proposition? Are you offering me a scoop?"

His smile got wider, and for a second his teeth looked like they were all canines. "Now now Rita, we're all friends here. I simply am going to give you an offer, so you can take it or leave it." She nodded hesitantly. "I will give you an exclusive interview. No, actually, more than that. I will make you my private link with the press, and any interviews or media communication to me will go through you; you will have everything from me _exclusively_. In return, you will print what _I_ want, and trust me, it will be every bit as interesting as the gossip you typically write. No Quick-Quotes-Quill. In fact, I would wager even more so. So, what do you say?"

Rita's jaw was hanging open slightly, and her acid green Quick-Quotes-Quill was lying motionless. This was the deal of a _lifetime_. A noted celebrity, for multiple events, offering her a contract like this? Priceless! "I say…I accept," she drawled with a smile. She offered her hand, and he shook it. She then reached into her bag and yanked out the one normal quill that she carried around with her, and a roll of blank parchment; no doubt this would be huge, just from the way he acted. "So then, shall we get started?"

He leaned back, casually running his fingers through his hair. "Alright then," he said with a smile. "Where to begin? I believe that I will start with my current appearance. It all started the day of the First Task. You see…"


	5. Chapter 5

The next day in the Great Hall everyone was sitting and eating breakfast, just like on any normal day. The Ravenclaws were debating, the Hufflepuffs socializing, the Gryffindors laughing boisterously, and the Slytherins talking in hushed tones. The present members of the other schools were sitting, isolated, in their own groups. The only strange thing was that Harry Potter was wearing a black muggle jacket with the hood pulled low over his brow, obscuring his face in shadow. However, Neville Longbottom didn't seem to mind, and so no one paid them any attention, aside from the girls sitting closest to the duo, who were trying to catch a better glimpse of Harry, for reasons they themselves didn't understand.

Everyone looked up when they heard the flurry of owl posts, aside from Neville and Harry, who merely shared a covert smile. The interview that Harry had participated in for Rita Skeeter had gone _splendidly_. She had been nearly foaming at the mouth by the time they were done, and had wanted to immediately go and print every single thing that Harry had told her, but they had (after much cajoling) been able to extract a promise from her that she wouldn't give them every story at once. The reasoning was because if they put all the details into one paper, people might not reach the end because of the articles before. Therefore, she had promised that no more than one juicy tidbit (her words, no theirs) would be released per day.

They heard several simultaneous gasps echo around the hall from many members of the female school population at the sight of the front page, and Neville took his copy and spread it out on the table before them so that they could both read it. Taking up a large part of the front was a black-and-white photo of Harry, taken by Rita as he sat in the booth, of him given a dazzling smile and running his fingers through his hair.

_Harry Potter, Human or Not?_

_Dear reader, yesterday as I sat in my booth in the Leaky Cauldron, I wondered to myself, what is the true story of Harry Potter? We of the Wizarding World truly do not know much about him; all we know is that he survived the Killing Curse, he goes to Hogwarts, and he is a current champion in the Triwizard Tournament. Well readers, imagine my surprise when Mr. Potter himself slid into the booth next to me! As you can tell from the above picture, he looks radically different than I expected, however, it turns out that he had quite the tale he wished to share with me! We conducted an interview, and here is an extract of what he wished to share with the world._

_{Begin Segment}_

_RS: Hello Mr. Potter, and thank you for agreeing to an interview._

_HP: No trouble at all Rita, and please call me Harry._

_RS: Why thank you Harry. I must admit that I am surprised by your new appearance, you are even more attractive than a Veela! Tell me, how did this change come about?_

_HP: I am happy you asked, for that is the story I wish to tell. Many of you will recall the First Task, where I spoke to a dragon in Parseltongue._

_RS: Yes, of course. Many wizards wonder if you are going Dark because of your choice use of that skill. Is that true?_

_HP: [laughs] Of course not. It is truly a sad testament that many useful types of magic are being blacklisted as 'Dark' for no reason other than fear. Parseltongue has been used by many Dark wizards, yes, but the language itself is not evil. In fact, I didn't even know that I was a Parselmouth until I entered Hogwarts._

_RS: Really? Why is that? Surely you would be able to tell if you could speak to snakes._

_HP: Yes Rita, one would think that. However, I couldn't. I always believed that it was the snakes that spoke English. You see, while to everyone who is not fluent in the language it sounds like hissing, to a Parselmouth like me it is indistinguishable from English. If I were to look at a snake and simply say 'hello', it would come out in Parseltongue. The language is used unconsciously, and as far as I can tell it takes constant use to be able to separate them. I have only been able to speak it when either viewing a snake or in times of extreme duress._

_RS: I never knew that. So tell me, how did you acquire the skill? There is no history of it in the Potter line._

_HP: Ah yes, that is the question I asked soon after the First Task. I had always believed that the skill had been accidentally transferred to me the night that [You-Know-Who] attempted to kill me, however, it is not so._

_RS: Pardon, you believed that you received it from You-Know-Who? It is widely known that he speaks it, but magical abilities cannot be transferred, or at least in recorded tests._

_HP: No, they can't. They are bloodline traits; [You-Know-Who] received it through his mother's line._

_RS: How do you know that?_

_HP: In my second year, a memory of him which he had imbued a diary with possessed a first year student. The memory then used the student as a host to open the Chamber of Secrets. I eventually confronted the memory. He said that his name was Tom Marvolo Riddle. He mentioned that he hated his name, for he was named for his, I quote, "filthy muggle father'. The name is in fact an anagram, which re-arranges to form 'I Am Lord [You-Know-Who]. I checked the school records and indeed, Tom Marvolo Riddle was registered as a half-blood who attended Hogwarts fifty years ago, becoming Head Boy and earning the highest scores in Hogwarts History._

_RS: That is shocking! So the greatest crusader of pureblood supremacy is in fact a half-blood himself?_

_HP: Yes. The memory mentioned that he grew up in a muggle orphanage. I imagine that any hatred of muggles stemmed from there. Being in an orphanage during World War I must have been horrible for the children, and I know that in fear people can be cruel._

_RS: Interesting. So, if he received it through his mother, then where did you get it from?_

_HP: Ah yes, I apologize from going off on a tangent. I did some research into my family; yes, the Potters never married into the Slytherin line, and Parseltongue couldn't be from that side of the family. Then, my good friend Neville Longbottom offered me an idea: what if my mother was adopted? That is why I am in Diagon Alley today, I went to the goblins to have them perform a heritage test. It is a Hogsmeade day today._

_RS: I thought that students weren't allowed to leave the villiage._

_HP: That is the curious thing. Apparently, when my name came out of the Goblet of Fire, I was placed in a binding legal contract. I tried to get out of it-I don't want to compete, never did-but Professor Dumbledore, Ludo Bagman, and Bartemius Crouch all agreed that I had to. Now, the laws for emancipation state that, "If the minor in question is approved as an adult by three government officials, then the emancipation will be recognized". The Chief Warlock and two department heads recognized me; that is enough._

_When I got to Gringotts the goblins did give me a blood test, and guess what? Neville was correct! My mother __**was**__ adopted. However, when her name came up, it wasn't Lily Potter née Evans; no, it was Lily Adriana Potter née Lamas. Apparently I, like my mother, am in fact a magical creature called a Lamia. Hers was blocked, as was mine, but I just had it unblocked at Gringotts._

_RS: You aren't even a human? That is certainly a shock. I'm afraid that I have never heard of a Lamia; can you tell me something about them?_

_HP: Why of course. There isn't much information on Lamia, as they, or rather we, are classified as Extremely Rare. Lamia are a half-snake species. A bit like a mermaid, the bottom half of our bodies is a snake tail. We can shift between that form and a humanoid form, like I am in now. Lamia are created when the egg of a Basilisk is incubated for a long time in an area of concentrated magic. All Lamia are created female, however, they can birth male Lamia, like me. My mother was a born Lamia as well, and children of a Lamia either are or aren't one, unlike in Veela, who can be only parts of a whole._

_Lamia have an allure, just like Veela. The first Lamia was a Lybian Queen that lived centuries ago in Ancient Greece, and used her allure to seduce men before transforming into her snake form and devouring them. Of course, I have no intention of doing that [laughs]. You may have noticed that I have now possess a very dark red hair. This is a trait that certain male Lamia are created with, much like how male Basilisks have a red plume. My mother most likely got it from her father, whose name was Caledon Aries Lamas, and he himself was a Lamia. Lamia also possess powerful venom, even more so than the Basilisk's, and very rarely one will have their killing gaze as well. I do not know what abilities I have yet; however, I will be sure to find out soon._

_RS: That is incredible! Lamia sound like very fierce creatures when angry._

_HP: Oh, I have no doubt that I could be a threat, but I will not utilize any abilities needlessly. Though, I will say that I am rather eager to try out my half-snake form. It will be very interesting to learn how to control it. I finally have a true link to my family, which I have never had before._

_{End Segment}_

_I truly admire Mr. Potters acceptance of such a fascinating discovery. Mr. Potter advises that anyone who wants any information on Lamia to refer to the book 'Greatest Magical Beings', where he himself found the information on them._

There was silence for a few minutes as everyone read the article. Harry leaned over to Neville. "Thanks for the bit about emancipation," he whispered. "That was perfect for what I needed." Neville grinned and gave him a high-five.

Suddenly a piercing shriek rang through the hall. Harry turned to where Hermione was now standing. "Harry! This can't be true! You are most definitely human, not some…some…snake thing!" she yelled.

He just winked at Neville before standing up. Hermione's mouth snapped shut as she saw his height, now pushing six feet tall. In a show of dramatic flair, he swept the hood off of his head, displaying his new features to everyone. His allure snagged on many of the closest girls, whose expressions mimicked Ron's when Fleur walked by; drooling and red-faced. He combed his fingers through his hair casually, and gave her a smile which looked far more real, and far more attractive, than Lockhart's. "Is that so Hermione? I'd have to say, the evidence disagrees with you." He paused and stared right at her, his eyes growing cold. "And I would appreciate you not calling me a _snake thing_. There are many species that would take great offence for you talking down to a magical being like that." He felt his agitation activate the instinct for self-preservation, and magic striped away the disguise on his teeth. He smiled at her again, enjoying the way her face paled as she saw the set of pointy teeth, sharp enough to cleave through a steak with one chomp. He considered revealing his forked tongue, but figured that it would be a bit _too_ much.

"Besides, I was there," added Neville, standing up. "I saw the test results; yes, Harry is a Lamia. Personally I think it is a very cool thing; we don't have nearly enough variety of people at this school."

Harry cast a glance at the Head Table, where Dumbledore was clearly fuming, no doubt over the emancipation bit. If Dumbledore tried to challenge it in court, then Harry would win, and then he would _really_ be emancipated, and officially. Snape was glaring at the paper like he could ignite it, no doubt hating the attention his most despised student was receiving. However, all the other teachers seemed perfectly fine with it; in fact a few, like Hagrid, Flitwick and McGonagall, seemed _happy_.

"Ha, Potter!" cried Malfoy, standing up at the Slytherin table. Harry cast him a thoroughly bored glance; he had no time for the ferret. "You're just a filthy half-breed!"

Harry saw several people at the Ravenclaw table stiffen, and he raised an eyebrow at Malfoy. "First off, the term 'half-breed' refers to someone who is part human and part magical being; not really an insult unless it is a troll or an acromantula." Several people shivered at the image. "Secondly, I am not part human, I am fully Lamia. My father passed his genes on, but not his humanity. Thirdly, you should know that a third of the student population at Beauxbatons are gifted with Veela heritage; or, as you so _eloquently _put it, half-breeds."

He greatly enjoyed the way Malfoy's face paled as he suddenly found himself on the receiving ends of glares from quite a few angry blonde French women. No doubt he would have to watch his step today; a Veela fireball to the groin would do wonders for ending the 'Noble' line of Malfoy.

Harry smiled at the silent hall and turned to Neville. "I am going to go grab my stuff from the tower, okay? I'll meet you in Charms in half an hour; I need to talk to Flitwick." With that he turned and swept from the room, leaving Neville to snicker at the dramatic flair, as well as the several girls who sighed when they saw his backside.

* * *

Harry headed down to the Charms classroom fifteen minutes early, with not just his books but also a bag which Neville had loaned him, which had an Undetectable Extension Charm on it, courtesy of his Gran always having to send him things he had forgotten. Harry had all his new clothes loaded in, aside from what he was wearing; he had a favor to ask of Flitwick.

"Come in," came the squeaky voice of Flitwick as he knocked on the door of the Charms Professor. He opened the door and stepped in, smiling at the little bits and bobs which were floating around the room. "Mr. Potter!" cried Flitwick as he saw Harry, his face splitting into a hug smile. "What a pleasure! I was ever so surprised when I saw the article today. Congratulations!"

Harry smiled widely at him. "Thanks Professor Flitwick. Actually, that is why I came. You know how I mentioned that Lamia have a half-snake body?" Flitwick nodded. "Well," said Harry as he lifted up the bag which held all his clothes. "I was wondering if you could charm my clothes to be able to alter when I need to shift. I don't want to know what happens if I change while wearing pants."

Flitwick's eyes widened in comprehension. "Oh, of course! I understand completely. It is just easy enough; I just charm the clothing to alter slightly when the magic begins to transform you. It is easy enough, and is used often for full Veela who need to be able to change their physical structure to an avian form." Flitwick dumped out the bag, raising an eyebrow at the large pile of clothing.

"Don't ask," said Harry with an eye roll. "Neville wanted to take me clothes shopping."

Flitwick chuckled as he poked the pile with his wand. "No trouble, no trouble. Neville is quite the considerate young man, if a bit shy. Much like his mother in that regard." Suddenly the pile of clothes began to glow, and several of the pants began to fuse into one long tube before splitting back into two. "There we go, easy enough. It required a bit of transfiguration, but while I may be a Master of Charms I'm no slouch in that art." He chuckled lightly.

Harry smiled began to load his clothes into the bag. However, he was stopped by Flitwick's hand on is wrist. "What is it Professor?" he asked.

Flitwick smiled and gestured to the pile. "Well Mr. Potter, I was wondering if, in return for the charms, I could see your…other form, as you call it? I myself have goblin ancestry through my mother, and I do find intelligent magicals fascinating."

Harry smiled and nodded. He cast a quick switching spell to swap his pants and underwear out with two on top of the pile, so that he wouldn't hurt himself. Right after he did that Flitwick tapped the two garments to apply the spell to them as well. Normally Harry would have felt embarrassed for letting his teacher see his underwear, but if Flitwick didn't make a fuss then neither would he.

"Okay, here goes," Harry muttered as he sat down in the chair and put his feet out in front of him. He concentrated on the merging feeling that he had felt underneath all of the pain on the day of the ritual. He focused on his legs changing, merging into the magnificent tail he saw before…

"Oh my!"

Harry opened his eyes and grinned. He had done it! He now had the long dark green tail back, and it curled around the chair. The pants had indeed shifted, and were now wrapped around his snake body. He grabbed the handles of the chair and slowly began to push himself up. It was a bit like trying to stay steady on a constantly moving floor, but he was able to hold himself mostly upright by grasping the edge of Flitwick's desk. The only downside was that he couldn't reach the maximum height. He looked up from his hands to see Flitwick's eyes wide, and mouth opened into an enormous smile.

"Oh, Mr. Potter, that is fascinating! Truly a marvel it is to see you in your natural form! Magnificent!" The diminutive professor was nearly bouncing with joy, and Harry was reminded of the time he had fallen off of a stack of books after calling Harry's name out in his first year.

Harry lowered himself back into the chair, and shifted his tail back into legs. It wasn't hard to _change_ them, just to actually _use_ the tail would take some practice. The tail was one huge muscle, after all.

He stood up, shoving the rest of the clothes into his bag. "Thanks so much, Professor," he said with a smile as he walked back out the door, to where the class was filling. "You've been a great help."

"And thank you Harry," murmured Flitwick as the door closed. "For giving me a reminder of my favorite student." He turned to look over at one of the large bookshelves off to the side. On the second row there was a picture of a beautiful young woman, with hair the color of fire and eyes the color of emeralds, smiling and waving at him. Taken on the day of her graduation. "Oh Lily," he muttered. "I wish that you could have known him. You would have been _so very proud_."


	6. Chapter 6

Far away, in a little village, in an enormous manor house perched on top of a hill, a plump man who looked a bit like a giant mouse scurried over to a large wing-backed chair where a small creature sat. The creature looked like an abomination of nature; it was almost like a baby, but its features were serpentine, its skin wrinkled and pale, and most disturbingly were its eyes, red and slit like a snake. When the little plump man dropped a newspaper onto the creature's lap, it cast a glare at the man, making him squeal in terror.

'Pathetic,' the creature, also known as Tom Marvolo Riddle, or to most Lord Voldemort, thought to himself. 'I wish that Barty was here, but alas, he is needed at Hogwarts.' Voldemort scowled as he tried to pull the paper open. 'Disgustingly flimsy little body.' His eyes skimmed over the cover page, his eyes stopping at the headline. 'Potter not entirely human?'

Voldemort quickly read through the paper, his ire turning into white-hot rage as he read the paragraph about his true name, due to two reasons. The first was the fact that _Potter_ had the _nerve_ to expose Voldemort's identity to the public, and the second was the Lucius had allowed his diary to fall into the boys hands. "WORMTAIL!"

An hour and several Crucious later, Peter Pettigrew stumbled from the room to clean the robes that he had soiled in his screaming. Voldemort settled back into the chair, still annoyed at the article. 'Hmm. If Potter isn't human, then his blood will not work for my ritual. I will _not_ have filthy _creature blood_ running through my veins, however, I still need that blood protection of his mudblood mother's so that I can touch him.' He drew his wand and summoned a book, hating how _weak_ he felt. He cracked open the book, called _Soul Magic_, and began to read. 'Oh yes, I will destroy Potter, that is for sure.'

* * *

Harry had no idea that far away his destruction was being planned as he grinned and skipped up the stairs towards the portrait of the Fat Lady. The day had gone brilliantly; he had spilled his secret to the world, gotten one up on Dumbledore, and managed to get Flitwick on his side. All in all, a good day's work.

"Hello!" he said cheerfully as he reached the portrait. The Fat Lady smiled brightly at him.

"Hello Harry! Wonderful to see you! I do so love the change that you have brought to this old place; we have never had excitement like today! Well, we have, but that Headmaster was removed under a charge of public indecency."

Harry made a mental note to look that up at some point in the future. "Thanks, and I do it by being myself! Oh, and the password is Gumdrops." He waved goodbye to her as he hopped through the portrait hole and into the lurid gold and red common room. Ugh, Godric Gryffindor must have been color-blind. Hopefully the Hufflepuff common room wasn't so bad, but black and yellow might not go together very well either.

He plopped down into the chair closest to the fire and pulled the book with the bit about Lamia out. Usefulness aside, it did have a very interesting selection of names and people. But any good mood that he had vanished like a puff of smoke when a certain ginger girl sat down uncomfortably close to him.

"Hello Harry!" Ginny said cheerfully. He turned to look at her in annoyance. She had placed one arm around the back of his chair, and the other on his thigh. She was sitting so close that she was squished up against him. "It's so _nice_ to see you." The 'nice' was said in a very breathy tone, and his nose wrinkled as he smelled fish. It was just lucky that he hadn't used his _tongue _to smell the air; he had learned his lesson when he tasted the air as he passed one of the bathrooms earlier, and nearly lost his lunch.

"Er…hello Ginny," he said, leaning back a bit as she leaned closer. He had known that she had a crush on him, but any inhibitions she had must have been lowered by his allure.

"What do you think of my perfume?" she asked, pushing him so far that he was nearly lying down on the couch. "It's called Summer Rose."

She was now almost on top of him, so before it could go any further he slid to the side and off of the couch. She collapsed face-first into the cushion as he stood up and straightened his robes. He heard Lavender, Parvati, and Romilda Vane sigh as he pulled his shirt back down to cover his stomach. "Ginny, stop!"

Ginny stood up with her hair slightly mussed and nearly launched herself at him. He stepped out of the way, snagging her arm to keep her from launching herself into the flames. However, she seemed to take this _entirely _wrong. "My hero!" she cried as she squeezed him tightly. He scowled and managed to push her off of him.

"Dear god woman are you part leech?" he hissed as he pried her off. "Stop bloody hugging me!" He dodged her and ran behind the couch.

"Well then turn off your damn allure!" cried Ron from the bottom of the stairs to the dorm. "You send her mixed signals all year, and then you sic your allure on her? You just want the attention, you bas-"

"Yes, yes, I'm a slut for attention," Harry commented drily as he tossed a pillow at Ginny. "Though you should know that my allure wouldn't affect her that much. It makes me appear more attractive and attention-grabbing to females, but it in _no way_ forces them to act on the feelings." He seized his book and ducked past Ron as he dashed up the stairs. When he reached the dorm he slammed the door shut behind him.

Neville laughed from his bed, where he had been writing a Herbology essay. It was supposed to be two feet long, and Neville's was pushing four; he really was excellent at the subject. "I told you that you'd be popular Harry," he said as he laughed. "Ginny has had a crush on you forever. That is actually why she dated; to make you jealous."

Harry wrinkled his nose slightly as he sat down on the bed. "That is gross. Me dating a red-head would be like Oedipus Syndrome; she looks like my mother! Oh, do you mind if I shift into the snake form? I need to get used to it."

Neville nodded as he went back to writing. "Sure, it's really cool. Besides, I would _love_ to see Ron's face when he walks in to find you looming over him with a snake tail, slit pupils, teeth that could cleave through bone, and a long forked tongue."

Harry grinned and nodded as he shifted his legs. He paused and ran a hand down it. "It's curious. I never really guessed that I would be so different underneath, but…I like it. I wonder if my mother knew about it. I mean, she must have if they put Caledon in my name." He used the bedpost to rise off of the floor, steadying himself at about seven feet high.

Neville stopped writing to watch Harry. "Who knows? Maybe she figured that she was adopted and did a test to find out who her real parents were. She had no reason to suspect them of not being human, so maybe she just thought they were Greek wizards."

Harry nodded, coiling his tail into a small pile underneath himself to help add stability. "I wonder if they had any houses in Greece, if they really were Greek. Perhaps I can stay there instead of with my relatives."

"You haven't mentioned your relatives a lot, but when you do it is never in a positive light. What are they like?" asked Neville, finally just abandoning his essay and scooting to the edge of the bed.

Harry paused in his attempts to raise himself higher without falling. "That is a…complicated question. My aunt was my mother's adopted sister, and she herself was very different. My mother was very beautiful, very smart, and had magic. Petunia was ugly, drab, and non-magic. As far as I can tell they got on well enough, at least until Hogwarts came. Then, Petunia was jealous of my mother, and she ostracized her, and the jealousy turned into hate. Hate of anything that she viewed as 'freakish'. Her husband is the same way. As far as I can tell they both have extreme cases of Xenophobia; fear of the unknown or strange. Then I came along, a baby with magic that Dumbledore just dumped on their doorstep in the middle of a September night. You can imagine what happened."

Neville frowned. "Did…did they treat you well?"

Harry snorted and teetered a bit as he lowered to a more comfortable height and coiled his tail into a pile, which he sat on. "I'm sure that they believed that they treated me fairly. When I was three years old I was given the cupboard under the stairs as my bedroom, because my cousin Dudley needed the extra bedroom for his old toys." Harry rolled his eyes. "From age four they made me do every chore in the house, even cooking, though I couldn't even reach the counter without a stool. I was never given my own clothes, instead the clothes belonging to my cousin, who by the way is a total glutton. Imagine Ron without the fast metabolism." Neville shuddered at the thought. "Heck, I didn't even know my own name until I went to muggle primary school; they always called me 'boy' or 'freak'."

Neville's mouth was wide open. "Oh gosh…that's horrible. And then you see people like Snape, who think that you have this perfect, fairytale life."

Harry sighed and shook his head. "He didn't get along with my father at school. I won't deny it; my father was probably a bully. However, Snape is an even worse bully, taking it all out on a child who can't defend himself, and that has no idea what a perfect life is supposed to be."

They sat in a comfortable silence for a moment. It was broken as Ron, Seamus, and Dean came bursting in, and they all froze as they saw Harry. "Oh my god," cried Seamus. "Wow!"

Dean burst out laughing. "You're right!" he gasped. "That's wicked awesome!" Harry smiled widely at them, showing off his array of pointy teeth. He rose off of the coils, enjoying the way that Ron paled.

"Snake!" shrieked Ron, his voice about two octaves higher than it usually was. The others just burst out laughing at the look on his face; much like when he saw a huge spider.

"Lamia," corrected Harry. Then an evil green slid onto his face and he leaned forward, using the weight of his tail to balance him. "Ssserpent child isss what I am Ron Weasssley," he hissed, playing up the lisp he occasionally got with his new tongue. "Ssstay away from me."

Ron looked like he was about to wet himself, and after a second of staring at Harry's face, gaze shifting from the slit glowing green eyes to the teeth, he went tearing out of the dorm as fast as he could. The others laughed, and Harry morphed his tail back to normal, losing his balance and falling onto his bed as his tail split.

"That was priceless!" cried Seamus. "I wish we had Colin's camera!"

Dean grinned and nodded. "Yea, that would be fine blackmail material. Maybe we could blackmail him into using his fork and knife as he eats."

They then made identical faces. "Nah," they all said simultaneously, before laughing again.

"If that was what you had planned for today, then I can't _wait_ for tomorrow," said Dean with a grin.

Harry shot him a mysterious smile as he lay on his bed. "Just wait and see."

* * *

Harry smirked at Neville as they heard the shrieking of the post owls. There were a good deal more than yesterday. As he watched quite a few owls were heading his way, one or two even holding Howlers. He could feel the eyes on his as they were all dumped in front of him. The moment the Howlers touched down he hit them with an _Incendio_; because really, who wants to hear that drivel first thing in the morning? He shoved all the others into the Extendable Bag, which Neville had just lent him for the foreseeable future.

Many people were opening their copies of the Daily Prophet, and the whispers started up the moment the headline was visible.

_Hogwarts: Safe or Not?_

_Most of the witches and wizards in Britain have attended Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. We have long been told that it is the safest place to have our children educated. However, is that true? Part of the conversation I had with Harry Potter yesterday does not support that statement._

_{Begin Segment}_

_RS: I am rather curious as to why you say that Hogwarts isn't actually as safe as we all believe it to be. As far as we have heard there haven't been any incidents recently, except the opening of the Chamber of Secrets which you mentioned. I can assume that no one was hurt, because no one heard anything about it._

_HP: Rita that is an entirely incorrect assumption. But indulge me for a moment, as I start at the beginning: my first year._

_At the first welcoming feast for the school, Professor Dumbledore announced to the Great Hall that students should stay away from the third-floor corridor on the right- hand side if, I quote, "They do not wish to die a most painful death". Why would you announce that in a hall full of students? I know for a fact that the Gryffindors would want to go right up and explore it for the sake of 'bravery', as would some of the other houses for their own reasons. The corridor itself wasn't even blocked! The Headmaster can control the staircases, and he could have easily prevented them from moving toward the door, but he didn't. The door itself had no protections other than a lock which could be unlocked with a basic Alohamora! Why not an age line to keep students away, or even sealing the wall?_

_RS: Why indeed? I take it that you do not hold much faith in Professor Dumbledore?_

_HP: That is not a straightforward question. He is a powerful wizard, and the defeater of Grindelwald, however, he is also a very old man, who is not just Headmaster, but Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot and Supreme Mugwhump of the International Confederation of Wizards. Those are all three very consuming tasks, and I believe that it might be hard for him to balance them._

_It is true that in my second year the Chamber of Secrets was opened. But you see, people were hurt. Colin Creevey, Justin Finch-Fletchley,_ _Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington, Penelope Clearwater, and Hermione Granger were all petrified. That year I was believed to have done it due to my ability to speak Parseltongue, a trait of the Slytherin family._

_RS: Oh my goodness! How was it done?_

_HP: The memory that I told you about opened the Chamber, where a Basilisk, the King of Serpents, resided. The Basilisk possesses the ability to kill with one look into its eyes, but the petrified students viewed it indirectly, via a reflective surface like a mirror. Justin Finch-Fletchley viewed it through Sir Nicholas, the Gryffindor Ghost._

_Third year Sirius Black escaped, and Dementors were placed on the school grounds. Why? Dementors are vicious creatures who will go after the closest victim, and have no eyes to distinguish between Sirius Black and a student. During a Quidditch game I myself was nearly Kissed, and in the process I fell from my broom and nearly died._

_While we are on the topic, did you know that Sirius Black never had a trial? I checked the records when I found out that he was supposedly the traitor to my parents._

_RS: Supposedly?_

_HP: Yes, it was in fact mere speculation that he was their Secret Keeper. If it was only believed that he was a traitor, then why no trial? No Veritaserum? No pensieve memories? The man who betrayed my parents should get a real trial so a verdict can be decided, not just Kissed, which could cover up any possible evidence. If he is innocent, then he would show up the moment he was offered a trial, right? Of course, I don't blame the Ministry entirely; it was a time of war. Yet Bellatrix Lestrange got a trial, and she proclaimed her guilt loudly._

_RS: I never knew that. But he did kill twelve muggles and Peter Pettigrew._

_HP: Perhaps, but all with one curse? If a curse like that did exist, then I am surprised that we haven't seen it in use many times. For all we know __**Peter**_ _was the Secret Keeper and Sirius Black was confronting him about betrayal._

_Now for my fourth, and current year. I got entered in the Triwizard Tournament. I know that many people believe that I did it for attention, money, and glory, but I have all three of those things and I would gladly trade them all to have my parents alive. I would be willing to swear under oath, or promise under Veritaserum, that I did not enter myself into the tournament, either directly or indirectly. I believe that someone is intending for me to die._

_{End Segment}_

_If all this can happen to one boy, then how can we be sure that our children are safe at Hogwarts? Is Sirius Black innocent, and if so will he get a trial or will it be covered up?_

* * *

Voldemort pressed the end his wand into Peter's Dark Mark hard. **_:Barty Crouch:_** he hissed. He waved his hand dismissively and Wormtail scurried off. Fifteen minutes later Barty hurried in, still looking like Alastor Moody. He dropped to his knees on the floor in front of the chair.

"You called My Lord?" Barty gasped as he took deep breathes to refill his lungs.

Voldemort rapped the page in the book next to him sharply with his wand. "Events are moving faster than expected, and this body is failing. Potter is needed for the ritual, but I cannot use his blood. The only opening we have that is soon enough is the Winter Solstice, December 22nd, three days before Christmas. The ambient magic at the peak will assist us." His lip-less mouth curled into a smile. "It will be a Christmas that they shall _never_ forget."


	7. Chapter 7

Albus Dumbledore was angry. No, scratch that, he left angry several towns back. He was, in a more modern phrasing, completely and utterly _pissed_. Ever since Harry bloody Potter's article about the safety of the school had gone out, he had been inundated with dozens of letters from parents asking him, in not so many words to 'please explain what the hell is going on at that school, how are you running it, and why shouldn't we boot your wrinkly arse out.'

Even worse was the fact that now his _teachers_ were questioning him. Him! The one who defeated Grindelwald, ran the most prestigious magical school in Europe, and him who controlled their paychecks! The reaming out that Minerva had given him made him wince in remembrance. He hadn't even understood half of it; her thick Scottish brogue pouring through the angrier that she got. Flitwick hadn't yelled, oh no, the Charms teacher and Dueling Master would not stoop to that. Instead, he had merely cast Dumbledore a fiercely disapproving glare that promised pain (mental or emotional if not physical) later.

Albus hoped, with all his heart, that this was the last of the missives Rita Skeeter had written up with Harry Potter. Sadly, as he discovered the next day, it was not meant to be.

* * *

On the cover of the Daily Prophet the next day, Sunday, there was an enormous picture of Harry. But, unlike the one from the booth, this was a full-size one. It was Harry sitting on a rock by the lake, leaning back with the wind rustling his hair. However, it was not him in his human form. Where he robe ended the dark tail emerged and hung down from the rock, curling into a coil at the bottom. His eyes were obviously slit, and as he sent a grin at the camera his full set of razor-sharp teeth were seen.

_The True Life Story of Harry Potter_

_It came to me, as I was talking to Harry Potter, that we truly know very little about his life before he came to Hogwarts. There are many different books and stories out there depicting what was believed to have happened, but no one has asked the boy, or should I say young man, himself._

_RS: Many people have been wondering what your life story is Harry. Your life until you came to Hogwarts is a complete mystery, aside from that you were somewhere safe._

_HP: That is quite the controversial topic, Rita. Let me start at the beginning, that Halloween night. Many people would be surprised to find that I __**do**__ in fact remember it; it is my worst memory whenever Dementors are near._

_[He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named] entered the property line, setting off the wards. My father told my mother to take me and run, and he would hold off [He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named]. My father was killed as my mother tried to flee, but [He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named] cornered her upstairs. He actually commanded her to step aside, and he didn't want to hurt her. I am curious as to why that is; didn't he hate all muggleborns? Though, as we learn now, she was no muggleborn. When she refused to move he killed her, and then proceeded to try to kill me. All I remember after that is green light and a high-pitched scream._

_RS: That is horrible. That is the most horrible thing that I have ever heard in my life. And apparently there were Dementors all over Hogwarts in your third year._

_HP: {shudders} Yes. The only memories of my parents that I have are of them dying._

_After that, as far as I can tell, I was retrieved by Dumbledore. He took me to my (not) muggle relatives in Little Whinging, Surrey. It was the home of my mother's adoptive sister, Petunia Dursley née Evans. I was left on the doorstep, by Dumbledore, in a cold November night, with nothing but a letter. Now, this seems extremely irresponsible. I was over a year old; how did he know that I wouldn't crawl or even walk away? My aunt didn't find me until morning the next day._

_RS: He left you, the savior of the wizarding world, on a doorstep with a letter?!_

_HP: Yep. Now, I personally don't have anything against most muggles, but my relatives are the worst. They are all extremely Xenophobic; that is to say, they are all terrified of something different then their idea of 'normal', and a wizard is as far from normal as I could be. From the age of three, I was like their house-elf. They made me, a helpless child, do all their housework, cooking, gardening, and any other menial task. Until my Hogwarts letter came I slept in a boot cupboard under the stairs. I only got the bare minimum to eat, and until I went to muggle primary school I thought my name was 'Boy' or 'Freak', because that is what my despicable muggle relatives always called me._

_RS: Oh Merlin! That is horrible, and they did that for ten years? Why did you have to stay there? Why didn't you tell anyone?_

_HP: I did tell someone, once. I told my teacher when I was in school, and she reported it to the Headmaster. However, he was an old friend of Vernon's (my uncle's), and he told Vernon. Vernon luckily has never hit me, but he did starve me for food for several days that week._

_I have been told by Dumbledore that there are blood wards in place which keep me safe from former Death Eaters. However, with this new discovery of my mother's blood, I now learned that it was only pure luck which kept me safe. I have no intention of ever returning there again._

_RS: And no one knew about this?_

_HP: Nope. Heck, many people believe that I grew up in a pampered lifestyle. My Potions professor often calls me a 'spoiled arrogant prince, strutting just like your father'. But how am I supposed to be a spoiled prince? Heck, I have never even __**met**__my father._

_RS: The Potions professor really acts like that?_

_HP: Yes. Professor Snape is a genius when it comes to Potions, most assuredly, but like most genii he has absolutely no patience for teaching those younger and not as clever as him. If I recall in our first class he addressed us as 'dunderheads'. The Potions scores for the last decade have been absolutely abysmal compared to those from Slughorn's time._

_Another class that seems quite lacking is Divination. The teacher makes a habit of predicting the death of one of the students, in this case me, nearly every class, as well as smelling strongly of sherry. She focuses only on the futuristic aspect of the art; where is the scrying? The sensory spells?_

_Aside from these two, all the other teachers seem perfectly well and capable._

_Here is a brief history of Harry Potter's life. Have we really failed him this much? We have let our savior be hurt and ridiculed by muggles with no idea of what he can do. Also, is the education of Hogwarts truly lacking so much?_

* * *

Vernon and Petunia Dursley were having a perfectly normal Sunday. They were all sitting around the table having lunch, Dudley watching the telly while Vernon boasted about his work. Their perfectly ordinary day was interrupted by a loud rapping on the front door.

"I'll get it darling," said Petunia as she stood up and smoothed her canary-yellow dress down. She walked over to the front door, heels clacking on wood. As she opened the door she was shocked to see two men standing there. One was slightly taller than the other, with dark red hair touched with grey at the temples. He was clean-shaven, and he held a cane with a large emerald set into the handle. The other was a few inches shorter, and looked to be in his late twenties, with dark brown hair that fell in soft curls around his ears and light stubble on his face. They were both dressed in clothes that were obviously wizarding, and from Petunia's limited magical experience they were very expensive.

"Hello Petunia," the older man said. As he looked at her his eyes hardened, and she felt a sudden fear begin to coil in her stomach. If looks could kill, then she would be dead on the floor.

"M-may I help you?" she stuttered slightly. The younger man's face split into a grin that lacked any essence of joy or kindness. She let out a small shriek as she saw his teeth, all pointy.

"My name is Caledon Lamas," said the older man. He tilted his head slightly so that he could look down his nose at her. "This is my elder son, Myron Lamas. We are here concerning my daughter, your adoptive sister Lily."

Petunia's face lost all color as she gasped and staggered back. "N-no! Impossible! Y-you're dead!"

The two of them stepped into the house, Myron sneering as he saw the disturbing cleanliness. His gaze froze and the sneer slipped off his face as he saw the small cupboard set into the wall under the stairs. "Dad," he murmured, tapping his father's arm to get his attention. "Look." He pointed at the small door.

Anything that Caledon was about to say was stopped as Vernon came into the foyer, his bulk taking up nearly the entire hallway. "Who the bloody hell are you?" he spat. Then he saw their robes. "Freaks!"

Myron's pupils elongated into slits, and his eyes narrowed at the man. "Watch yourself, _muggle_," he spat. "We just recently found out that my long-lost sister is dead, and her son that we never knew about was abused by you. I would highly advise shutting your mouth."

Vernon's face darkened to a plum color. "How dare you!" he blustered. "You freaks can't just force your way into my house and tell me what to do-" His voice was cut off as he suddenly found himself pressed against the wall, Caledon's cane pushing against his airway.

"Count yourself lucky," he hissed at Vernon, enjoying the way that all bravado faded away. "If it weren't for the fact that I intend to use every _inch_ of my political power to make you the first muggles thrown in Azkaban then you would find yourself looking into the killing gaze of a Basilisk."

"A-A-Azkaban?" gasped a horrified Petunia from where she was backed against a wall by an angry Myron. "Where the D-Dementors live?"

"Oh, so you've heard of it," Caledon said with a cruel smirk that had Vernon nearly wetting himself. "Trust me, when we're through, you will never see the light of day again."

* * *

Amelia Bones was scowling as she scribbled furiously on the parchment in front of her. After the article published by Harry Potter, there were hundreds if not thousands of people clamoring for the arrest of the Dursleys. Not that she minded at all; if she found out that her niece had been abused like that, she would have eviscerated them. The only annoying thing was that the Minister had hidden in his office, letting all the mail come to her, and she was knee-deep in it.

She had also been investigating the files on Sirius Black. Apparently, just like Harry Potter had said, Black hadn't gotten a trial. Heck, they hadn't even done _Priori Incantatem _on his wand! The only evidence was a message from Dumbledore saying that Sirius Black was the Secret Keeper, because he was James's best friend.

A small alarm on her desk suddenly began to whirl and beep as it alerted her that the aurors she had sent to Privet Drive had returned. Her door opened not a second later, and four aurors entered. They had three people with them, who were dumped on the ground. Amelia looked over the edge of the desk, and she could see that the three of them all wore frozen expressions of absolute terror. "What happened?" she asked.

Nymphradora Tonks spoke up. "We weren't the first. There were at least a dozen witches and wizards trying to get into the house. This is what we found; petrified Dursleys. They have also been cursed with at least a dozen curses, many Dark or dark Grey but not strictly illegal. If we de-petrify them then they will all take effect simultaneously."

Amelia raised an eyebrow at that. It was quite a clever tactic. "And what of the public? The muggles?"

It was Kingsley that spoke up next. "Well, we were lucky enough in the fact that many of the wizards and witches there were dressed as muggles, and the ones that weren't were hidden by the others. We were dressed as those…what do you call them? Please-men? Anyway, when one of the people asked we simply said that the Dursleys were under arrest for abuse of their nephew." He snorted. "They said that the Dursleys told them that Harry was a juvenile delinquent. When they asked about the crowds I told them that Harry was in fact very famous and important to certain people."

Amelia nodded. "That is a fine cover story, and if they try to dig too deep we can spin something about him being the heir to an old noble family. Which, in fact, he is." She stood back up and walked around the desk so that she could stare down at the frozen Dursleys. "Now, what should we do with you?"

* * *

Harry was sipping his pumpkin juice at dinner as an owl flew into the Great Hall and made a bee-line for him. It was a bit strange to see one at dinner; they were technically allowed to come at all meals, but breakfast was most common.

The backlash from his story had been monumental. He had people coming to ask him about it all day to see if it was really true. Not surprising really, considering Rita's reputation. He had told them that yes, it was true. There was dissent among the teachers as well. McGonagall had been seen yelling her head off at Dumbledore in the Entrance Hall in front of everyone, her voice echoing off the walls about how she told him they were 'the worst sort of muggles imaginable'. Fred and George had been launching all sorts of pranks all across the castle, most targeting Dumbledore specifically, and many of them bordering on cruel. However, not one of the teachers told them off.

The picture had almost been forgotten in the chaos, at least until people were done gossiping about the story. One of the Beauxbatons boys had come up and asked if he could see Harry shift, and Harry had obliged. The boy had been fascinated, and ran off to tell his friends.

The grey owl landed next to Harry's plate and stuck out its leg. He raised an eyebrow and dislodged the letter, allowing the owl to fly away. He unfurled the parchment after a quick tap with his wand to check for dangerous spells.

_To my dearest grandson_

_You have only heard of me, but my name is Caledon Lamas, your grandfather. Now, you may be about to destroy this letter due to me never making contact with you, but let me explain first: I never knew until recently that your mother was alive._

_Many years ago my wife and I came to Britian from Greece for a summer holiday. We stayed in a large house near a beach and a small town, just us and our two children; your mother and her older brother. However, on our third night there, our daughter Lily was kidnapped. We still do not know how or why; the house was heavily warded, so only a wizard could have entered. We searched long and hard for her, but she was never found, until now. I live with my son in Greece, however, we have a House-Elf collect the Daily Prophet for us every few days. Imagine my surprise when I discovered your story._

_Now, I know that you have no reason to trust me or even to respond to this letter. I just wanted to let you know that, should you ever need someone, I am here to help. You are a member of our family, and a Lamia, and we always look out for each other._

_Caledon Lamas_


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: I dedicate this chapter to Emily from Third Period. Thanks for reading, Emily!**

* * *

Harry put down the letter in shock as he finished reading it. His grandfather was alive? And Harry had an uncle as well?

"What is it Harry?" asked Neville as he watched Harry. Harry just shook his head and handed him the letter without a word. Neville read it, and whistled when he finished. "Now that's surprising. It honestly never even crossed my mind that your grandfather might be alive." He glanced down at the letter again. "An uncle as well? Wow."

"What do you think I should do?" he asked Neville. "I mean…family! Heck, they can take me away from the Dursleys!"

"Not that you will ever have to go back there," Neville added in helpfully. "I'm sure that the Dursleys have found themselves swarmed with witches and wizards demanding their subsequent arrest."

Harry nodded absently. Suddenly a shadow loomed over him and his plate, and he heard a deep voice speak from behind him. "Potter! What is that? Mail is to be delivered in the mornings only," growled Snape. "Give me that!" He reached for the letter, but Harry pulled out of the way and stood up, smirking at the fact that he was now at least six feet tall, and could now look at Snape at eye-level. He was aware of every gaze in the hall focusing on them

"Don't touch my letter," Harry said as his eyes narrowed. "You have no right."

Snape's lips curled into an ugly sneer. "You are getting a letter at dinner, which is against the rules. I am checking to see who would send you a letter now. And you will address me as sir, Potter."

Harry felt his pupils elongate, and his teeth shift as they anticipated the need for self-defense. "No, it is not against the rules, just uncommon, Snape. When you actually act like a professional and a teacher then I will address you as such, but you have only shown yourself to be a bully. Now get lost you greasy bastard."

Snape glare increased tenfold, and he suddenly lunged for the letter. Harry reared back, bared his teeth, and hissed, letting his tongue flick out. Snape apparently wasn't intimidated. "Give me that Potter!"

"No way, Sssnape. Ssstay away from me, or I ssswear that I will dessstroy you." In his agitation his faint lisp became very pronounced and his words sounded more serpentine. Suddenly he felt a strange sensation on his teeth.

Snape made a move to step forwards, and suddenly froze. Harry turned and looked around, and he was shocked to see dozens of students, all over the Great Hall, standing and pointing their wands at him. There were surprisingly even quite a few Slytherin students doing it as well. "Make one move, I dare you," spat Neville. "There are many students here that would like nothing more than to curse you. I guarantee that many here are planning on sending letters home to parents, including me. My Gran is on the Board, and she will do her best to see you booted right out of here."

Dumbledore stood at the Head Table, his eyes behind the half-moon glasses not twinkling in the slightest. "Students! Put down your wands, you are NOT to attack Professor Snape! Mr. Potter, you will come to my office now."

Harry turned to look at Dumbledore for a moment. "Fine, but I request that Professor McGonagall be there as my Head of House."

She stood and nodded, ignoring the glare of Dumbledore. "Of course I will come with you Mr. Potter."

He sent her a dazzling smile, ignoring the coos and gasps from many of the female population. "Great!" With that he turned and swept from the hall, bypassing and completely ignoring Snape.

He waited outside the doors for a moment until Professor McGonagall came out. As he waited he ran a finger over his teeth, remembering the strange sensation from before, and felt a slick, oily feeling. He pulled his finger out, and was surprised to see a dark golden liquid on the tip of his finger. 'Venom,' he thought.

He straightened as Professor McGonagall came out the doors and nodded to her as they began to walk towards the Headmaster's office. No doubt Dumbledore would take one of the secret routes.

"Thanks for doing this, Professor," Harry said after a few moments of silence.

"Of course Mr. Potter, I am your Head of House, and it is my duty. In the past few days, Albus has shown his priorities to be a bit…skewed, at best."

Harry sighed and combed a hand through his dark red hair. "I think that he has some delusion that I am meant to be a savior or something. He seems to want me to fit into a certain 'hero' mold. I think that he has believed that ever since he dumped me at the Dursleys."

McGonagall grimaced slightly. "I told him that they were the worse sort of muggles imaginable. I spent the entire day before you were dropped off watching them, you know. Their son was a horrible little brat, kicking and screaming and begging for sweets."

Harry paused and turned to look at her in confusion. "Wait, you were there for an entire day before-hand? Why? I thought that I was taken there directly and found the morning of November first."

"No, you actually weren't brought to those…the Dursleys until the night of November first. Hagrid took you from the ruins of your house straight here, to Hogwarts, so that you could be checked. I remember Albus finding something in your scar and performing a Binding Spell on it, though I did not question it. However, given recent circumstances, I believe that I should have asked."

Harry frowned in thought as he arranged a timeline in his head. Hagrid had taken Harry straight from the Dursleys, Sirius left to go search for Peter, Harry was brought to Hogwarts, McGonagall went to Privet Drive, Dumbledore kept Harry until nightfall, and finally Harry was left out like a package in the rain. There was something missing… "What about my parent's will?"

"I am not sure. Perhaps Albus went to visit Gringotts while I was at Privet Drive?"

"No," said Harry, shaking his head. "Sirius was arrested that night, and was not known as guilty, so Dumbledore couldn't have been legally allowed to leave me there. Also, he had you head there before he could have gone to get the will. It seems like he planned this."

McGonagall pursed her lips in thought, as Harry did the same. His parent's will would have bequeathed him (and Merlin he sounded like a package) to Sirius on the event of their death. However, Sirius obviously hadn't gone with Harry, instead he went after Peter. Harry did love the man, but it was definitely not the first time that he had shown a tendency to make rash decisions, and potentially dangerous ones. When he escaped, he wanted to go kill Peter, not go visit his godson, or even realize that if Peter was dead then he would never be free. No, Sirius was nice enough, but he would never make a decent guardian.

Dumbledore obviously planned for Harry to go to the Dursleys. Why? If he truly wanted Harry to be safe, why not check up on him? Why not actually knock on the door and hand him over? No, Dumbledore obviously had a plan in mind, wanting Harry to fit into a mold of 'hero'. The only question to ask was why; what was his end game?

They stopped in front of the large gargoyle statue. "Blood Pops," said McGonagall. Harry rolled his eyes; why even have a password on the office? Weren't students supposed to be encouraged to trust in their Headmaster? And, even if he had to have a password, why was it always sweets?

McGonagall stopped in front of the door to knock, but Harry just shoved the door open. Dumbledore was, as predicted, sitting at his desk. Snape was standing next to it, glaring at Harry. Harry arranged his face into a mask of surprise, using his arm to subtly block McGonagall from entering. "Oh, you have a meeting with Snape? Pardon me, I'll come back when you are done."

Dumbledore frowned beneath his beard. "No Harry, my boy, Severus is here on my request."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Firstly Headmaster, what did I say about the name? You will address me as Mr. Potter, and calling me 'your boy' makes you seem like a pedophile." He smirked as he saw Dumbledore pale, and, though he must have imagined it, he thought that he heard McGonagall snort behind him. "Secondly, Snape has no right to be here except as a Head of House. If that is why he is here, then we must wait for Professors Flitwick and Sprout as well, for _surely_ you are not one to play favorites, Professor."

Dumbledore looked like he was having an internal battle for a few moments before sighing and waving his hand. "Go, Severus."

Snape looked like he wanted to argue, but he held his tongue. He was just walking by Harry as he muttered to himself. "Blasted little brat. Arrogant bastard, just like his filthy father-"

Faster than he could blink, Snape suddenly found himself shoved up against the wall, serpentine eyes the color of the Killing Curse, and filled with just as much hate, glaring at him, above a snarl composed of wicked looking teeth dripping with a toxic golden fluid. He tried to make a move to defend himself, but realized two things in shock: one, Potter's powerful tail had him wrapped up so tightly that he couldn't even fill his lungs up entirely, and two, there was the feeling of nails pressing against his esophagus, ready to slice through the delicate flesh with a mere flick of the wrist.

"Mr. Potter!" cried McGonagall in shock, but Harry just ignored her.

"You listen to me, and you listen good, _Snape_," Harry hissed near Snape's ear. However, the other two in the room could clearly hear him. "I am sick and tired of your little comments. I used to look a lot like my father, yes, and even less now, but I am _not him_. I am not Sirius, either. You are so self-assured of yourself being better than the bully that I assume my father was, yet you are even lower. From what I have heard my mother wouldn't have married an ass, and so I assume that he, unlike you, matured. Now," here his voice grew darker, and the seductive masculinity became chilling. "You are going to wise up and _shut up_. You are going to treat me like you treat everyone else. No, scratch that. You are going to treat everyone like you treat your little bastard godson Draco." Snape's eyes flashed and he opened his mouth to argue, but the nails suddenly were digging into his skin, and blood began to trickle down his neck and over the fingers. "I am a Lamia. I will not tolerate your aggravation for very long before I snap again, and when I do I _assure you_ that it will end with you screaming your way into hell. Due to my instinct I can honestly say that I would like nothing more than to force my venom into your body, and watch it eat away at you like acid. This is your last warning: touch me or my friends again, and I will _end you_. Now, leave." He pulled away and reverted to human form, still glaring at Snape with snake eyes. Snape just watched him with a look of pure fear for a moment before running from the room.

Harry turned back to the others. McGonagall was eyeing him warily, but she hadn't pulled out her wand. When she met his gaze her face softened for a moment and she nodded. Dumbledore looked slightly horrified, slightly afraid, and slightly angry. "Ha-…Mr. Potter. You should not, you _will not_ speak to Severus like that, nor will you threaten him. As soon as we are done here you will write a formal apology-"

"Nope," interrupted Harry cheerfully, popping the 'p'. "I will not have anything to do with that greasy bastard. In fact, I will no longer be attending his classes. They contribute absolutely nothing to my grades, because he does not grade fairly, and the only grades that matter truly are O.W.L.'s. If worst comes to worst then I can hire a tutor; Merlin knows that I have the money for it." Dumbledore opened his mouth to speak again, but Harry ignored him and raised his voice. "Also, if this is about what I put in the Prophet, and it ruining the school's reputation, save it. The wizarding world needs a good smack upside the head to help get its collective head out of its arse, and, while she has been only doing it for profit, Rita has been most helpful. Trolls, three-headed dogs, Basilisks, Voldemort, Dementors, werewolves, and now an attempted murder? Count yourself lucky that I am not changing schools; I am sure that Durmstrang would be ecstatic to get Harry Potter in their ranks, as would Beauxbatons." He nodded to McGonagall. "Thank you for accompanying me Professor, and sorry that it seemed to be in vain. Until next time, _adieu_."

With that he spun on his heel, flung the door open, and stalked back down the stairs.

* * *

Dumbledore was camped out in his office, scowling to himself as he thought of ways to get Harry Potter back under his thumb. It had all been planned out so perfectly. Send the boy to neglectful relatives, check. Make sure that his savior helped guide Harry into the correct mindset of Dumbledore is good and Slytherins are bad, check. Have him make friends with a family firmly entrenched in the Light, like the Weasleys, check. Write up an illegal marriage contract to the youngest daughter, that would take away the entire Potter fortune, and that can only be broken by both parties' consent, check. All that was left was for the boy to kill Voldemort!

Now, however, everything that he had worked so hard to achieve was in shambles. Minerva had said only three words, but that had the desire effect: Board of Governors. No doubt with her testimony, coupled with the letters from students, Severus would be booted out rather quickly. The most that Dumbledore could do was to try to have him be on probation, and take away his title of Head of Slytherin. It would be catastrophic if the man was evicted from the castle; he was needed to spy when Voldemort returned.

Harry Potter was quickly unraveling the delicate threads that held the lies and half-truths that Dumbledore spun. No doubt he would soon find out about his stolen mail, all hidden away in a spare vault at Gringotts. The annoying thing was that nearly every letter had been spelled to only be able to be opened by its recipient; it was a commonly used spell by adults, and the only ones without it were basic thank-you letters from small children. Some had large packages, potentially containing useful items, and _he couldn't open them_! He wasn't powerful enough to break every single one; the Elder Wand was the source of his power, and that didn't help in spells like Healing and Warding. He had only won the thing by stabbing Gellert Grindelwald in the back as he slept.

He sighed and rubbed his eyes. At least the marriage contract was still active; Molly would do whatever he said, including hold a contract so that Harry would stay in the Light. She had been a bit wary at first, and only done minor things against the boy, like a thousand galleons form his vault (from the Potter Trust Vault it was a pittance, however, in most vaults it was a fortune), but after the danger that her children kept getting into around Harry she began to want him to be more controlled. He had visited them often when the children were younger, and the Weasley girl was utterly and completely infatuated with the boy. He had been hoping that Harry would have Oedipus complex, and would gravitate towards the girl that looked like his mother, but there were no signs of it. Perhaps a love potion was in order.

As he watched his master manipulate the chess pieces of the snake-boy's life, Fawkes gave a sad trill; this was what had destroyed the other boy, Tom Riddle, all those years ago.

* * *

Caledon and Myron were sitting in their villa in Greece eating breakfast when the mail came. Myron had his arm propped up on the table, and rested his head on it as he looked out the window, curls blowing in the wind. He actually looked a fair bit like his nephew in expression and face shape. The water of the Mediterranean washed against the shore under the window, waved crashing on the rocks. Caledon was still finishing his meal, though he did gaze up at his son every once in a while.

The snow-white owl dropped its letter straight onto Caledon's head, causing the man to jump in shock, and Myron to look up before snickering. "What's that, Dad?" he asked.

Caledon pulled the letter off his head, rolling his eyes at his son. "It appears to be a letter, Myron, though I do not know who it is from." The front of the envelope had his name written in even, straight letters, similar to his son's handwriting. Most likely another young man. He took his knife and slit the top of the envelope before pulling out the letter inside.

_Dear Caledon_

_My name is Harry Potter, and I got your letter. Thank you for contacting me, I never knew that I had any family alive before this, and you have no idea how happy it made me feel to know that you are not dead._

_I will get straight to the point: I would love to meet you, and my uncle, if he is alright with it. If you have seen the article I put in the Daily Prophet then you will know that I lived with despicable people that I believed were my family._

_The headmaster of my school, Albus Dumbledore, is an extremely manipulative old man, as I have recently discovered. He was the one who placed me with the Dursleys, under the lie that there were Blood Wards protecting me, though that isn't true because my mother isn't related to them. Any attempts made between us to meet will have to be outside his sphere of influence._

_I am curious about a few things. What is your son's name? Is he a Lamia like you and me? Has everyone in our family been Lamia? Lastly, I hope that I don't sound presumptuous, but would you be willing to take me in? I have nowhere to go currently, and, if it isn't too much trouble, I would like to stay with family._

_Harry Potter_

Caledon's face broke into a wide grin as he finished the letter. Harry wanted to meet them! He passed the letter to Myron, who was looking on curiously and with slight impatience. He too smiled as he read the letter, though it turned into a frown as he read the questions. "Okay, why didn't you tell him my name? Also, it appears that his self-esteem is kinda low; he seems to expect us to throw him away like a rag."

Caledon scowled. "His…caretakers, though they seem to have really _taken_ any type of care, have instilled a lack of self-worth in him. We will need to change that."

Myron grinned. "Cool! It will be like having a little brother! I can take him to town to get him some nice clothes for this climate, and teach him how to flirt with the girls and the tourists, and all sorts of other stuff!"

Caledon smiled slightly and nodded. "Yes, that would be good. I have no doubt that he needs a male figure in his life, and though he may not want a father-figure, an older brother is perfect." Caledon stood and began to walk towards his office. "Now, I need to pen a letter to the British Ministry so that I can get us custody of him. Pack the bags, will you?"

Myron rolled his eyes but nodded. "Yes Dad." Secretly he was ecstatic inside at the chance to meet his nephew. He wasn't lying that he really wanted to spend time with the kid. Myron loved the thought of finally having another young guy to go do things with. Lamia, like the Basilisks that they came from, could live for hundreds of years if they were healthy, and Myron was only thirty-seven, and could have very easily passed for seventeen among wizards, because they started aging slower at fifteen, couple with their natural attractiveness. The Lamas were the only Lamia family on Earth, and so Myron didn't have any other relatives. Harry would be the first guy close to his age that he could really get close to and do 'guy things' with. 'Oh yea,' he thought, grinning happily as he began to shovel clothing into a trunk. 'Look out world, here we come.'

* * *

**A/N: I had LOADS of fun writing the Snape scene. Hope you all like it!**


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: You know, I am surprised at how many people are loving having a non-slash creature fic. Though, now that I think about it, there are a great deal of them.**

* * *

Voldemort eyed the page of the book as he began his calculations. It was December fifth now, and they had seventeen days until the solstice, when the magic of the winter would be at its highest point, and all magic would be increased. On the solstice it was said that you would even be able to witness the mating of unicorns, an event that few mortals would ever observe. It was also when the soul was most empowered, which was why soul magic such as Voldemort was attempting could only be done then.

He scowled and crossed out a calculation. His window of time was very small, and he had to spend hours of each day merely working out the calculations and the runic sequences. Pettigrew was off trying to collect the ingredients for the potion that had to be made along with the ritual. There wasn't much he needed; the ritual took most of its power and focus through the soul of the caster.

The primary function of the spell was to recreate a body housing for a soul, using the given soul's imprint. It had once been believed to be able to resurrect ghosts, however, it didn't work. The spell was powerful, and using it would tax the soul greatly, in both mind and soul, and it was nearly impossible to focus. Ghosts were the barest leftovers of mortal souls clinging to this plane of existence merely by the scrap of will that they had to avoid death. The ritual would divert that will, and they would pass on to the afterlife. Luckily, Voldemort's horcruxes would ensure that he would not 'pass on' as it were. Besides, he possessed more than enough will to not 'move on'. He would merely abandon this fragile homunculus and his soul would have a body built around it.

Potter was still needed, but not for his blood. No, Voldemort would not have creature blood running through his veins, Serpent Lord's or not. He would instead be taking some of Potter's magic through his scar. As far as Voldemort could tell, when he tried to kill Potter all those years ago some powerful Dark magic was locked into the scar by whatever helped the brat survive. If he drew on that power, it could be used to resurrect himself anew with double his original power, along with whatever protective spell saved him. He had a theory that the not-so-mudblood had done something that had given him protection against those of evil intent, and Voldemort could bend that to destroy _his _enemies.

All Voldemort needed to do was have Barty snag Potter a few days before Yule, portkey to Riddle Manor, and he could conduct the ritual in a few minutes, after which Potter would die. Yes, so very very…simple.

* * *

Barty Crouch eyed Harry Potter as he lectured on the uses of high-level protective shielding. Potter was completely oblivious to this attention, instead focusing on copying down the notes on the board. No doubt he was quite experience with avoiding attention, after years of being called 'hero', and with his new allure attracting nearly every female in the school. There had already been three attempts to dose Potter with love potions. Not that they worked, Potter could smell every potion with that ultra-sensitive snake tongue of his, and even if he couldn't Lamia are immune to many influential potions.

After the last of Rita's articles had gone out, the chaos surrounding Potter had died down. The school fell back into the rhythm from before, with the only difference being the preparation for the Yule Ball. The teachers had been in a frenzy preparing invitations, decorations, music, menus, and other miscellaneous things. Luckily, no one wanted the 'unstable and supremely paranoid' Alastor Moody helping them.

The Yule Ball was the twenty-second, when Potter would be taken. Barty was still trying to work out the kinks in that plan. Seeing as the Ball would have already started, his best idea so far was to corner Potter and tie him up. His Basilisk heritage gave him immunity to basic spells such as Stupefy, unless he was attacked by many at once, so Barty would have to get him bound fast while he activated the portkey. It was strong enough to get them through the wards, luckily, because there was no way that he could hold Potter all the way out the Front Gate.

Barty dismissed the class, using Moody's eye to watch Potter pack and head out the door. Hard to believe that such a scrawny little brat was the one that had aided in destroying his Lord's body.

* * *

Harry felt his face break into a wide grin as he saw the grey owl belonging to his grandfather, named Midas (they sure loved their Greek names), come circling down to drop a letter on his plate. The owl then stole a few pieces of bacon before flying off.

Harry had been in correspondence with his grandfather and uncle for the last few days, and they had told him lots. His grandfather was very kind and loving, though he did appear to be slightly more proper when in public. He had encouraged Harry to address him as Granddad. He had been alerting Harry to how far the process to become Harry's legal guardian had come. Harry's uncle Myron seemed to be the exact opposite. He was apparently very fun-loving and happy, and he had told Harry lots of stories in his letters. He had also talked about all the things that he wanted to do together, and Harry was, for the first time ever, excited to be going home. According to him, the name Myron was fine, because Uncle Myron made him feel old.

Harry tore open the letter.

_Harry_

_It's finally done! Dad got home from the British Ministry today, and apparently he has finally gotten custody. It was a bit harder than we thought it would be, because that pompous idiot Fudge wanted you to be put with a known wizarding family, like the Malfoys. I think that the guy we met, Lucius Malfoy, looks like a peacock. Blech._

_Also, the Dursleys' trial is being scheduled. It has taken an annoyingly long time, because there are loads of Dumbledore supporters rallying for them to be released, and that Harry was lying. Luckily, no one gives a damn, but the amount of them has caused trouble. What finally shut them up was when they were shown the Dursleys, and that fat idiot Vernon called them "All disgusting little freaks, just like that freak that lived with us and you should all burn!" or something of that nature. I wish that I could have seen their reactions._

_I heard that you guys are having a Yule Ball. Good luck with that; when I was your age Dad forced me to go to some big party for some rich guy in Crete, and I had to bring a date. It was horribly stuffy and boring, because everyone there simply wanted to talk and talk and talk. I actually fell asleep, and Dad never let me live it down. My advice to you is to ask a girl now, or you will end up doing what I did, which is running around at the last minute searching for anyone._

_Dad says that, if it's alright with you, we would love to come visit you at Hogwarts. As family and guardians (well, not me, I'd make a crappy adult authority figure, but you get the idea) we can come see you. I would love to see Hogwarts, though I imagine that it is getting cold there this time of year. I can't wait until I can take you to Greece, and show you the benefits of a Mediterranean climate. Girls, sunglasses, and waves, oh my!_

_From your super-awesome uncle,_

_Myron_

Neville smiled as he saw Harry's face light up when he saw the letter. Harry really needed people like Myron and Caledon in his life, who cared about him unconditionally. Neville cared, but he was just one person, and Hermione and Ron had proven their worthlessness by ditching the boy. Neville hoped that this family of Harry's would help him in the way that no one else could. Help him see that he was not, in any way, worthless.

* * *

Minerva McGonagall was sitting in her office grading her essays. She was busy crossing out large sections of Hermione Granger's essay. She had a firm talk with the other teachers about a point that Harry had brought up: plagiarizing. Apparently, in the muggle world, it was illegal to copy other's work and portray it as your own. Minerva had realized that every one of Hermione's essays or answers were composed mostly of direct book quotes. That didn't show intelligence; no, it just showed good research skills and memory. However, that was no substitute for real intelligence.

She sat back for a moment and thought. Real intelligence in the wizarding world was very rare. Back when she had been in school, Tom Riddle had it. He was a genius in every sense of the word, as well as powerful beyond imagining. Lily Evans was brilliant as well. She had asked questions that no one else had dared to, and she had pushed the boundaries of magic far. Even Harry Potter was far smarter then she had thought. Up until this year, he had seemed to be an average student, completely unlike his brilliant parents. James, while a troublemaker, never had low grades. Harry hadn't shown the spark of brilliance until this year, when he started spending time with Neville Longbottom, who was nowhere near as distracting as Ron or Hermione. His essays were now better thought-out, and his practical work was flawless. Such a drastic change from before.

Her musings were interrupted as the floo suddenly roared to life. Though she would deny it until her dying day, she was so startled that she instantly turned into a cat and leapt behind the desk to shield herself. However, as soon as she realized that she had just reacted in such a way to the _floo_ of all things she transformed back, blushing slightly. In the fireplace was the head of a man with dark red hair who looked about forty-five at most.

"Hello. Professor McGonagall, I assume?" the man asked. His voice was rich and deep, unconsciously making her shiver slightly.

"Yes, yes I am," she said as she straightened her tartan robes. "Who may I ask is calling?"

"Caledon Lamas, concerning my grandson, Harry Potter. He told me in the letter that he sent that you would be a better contact for me within Hogwarts."

Minerva froze and stared at him, her mind suddenly working into overdrive. The nose, the cheekbones, the red hair, though a different shade…all Lily. "Oh Merlin," she breathed. She had been approached a few days ago by Harry Potter, and it involved his family wanting to come to meet him, so that she would be prepared. "Yes, Mr. Potter has told me about you wanting to meet him. Please, come through." She flicked her wand to banish the wards on the fireplace.

A few moment later he stepped out of the floo, followed by a younger man that looked like he was scarcely out of school. Caledon was wearing fine black robes with scarlet trim, and he was holding a cane with a large emerald as the handle. His straight dark red hair touched with grey was brushed to the side, giving him a far less pompous look than most of the older wizarding gentlemen, with their long hair and big stomachs.

The man that she assumed to be Myron was entirely different. He was wearing a black open outer robe, as was the fashion for younger male wizards, over black slacks and an untucked polo shirt, with loafers on his feet. He had hair that fell in loose curls stopping near his ears, and had the slightly stubbly look that contributed to the casual appearance. He was smiling widely, making him look even more like he was only in his early twenties or late teens. Minerva could see the resemblance between him and the way that Harry looked now; they both had the look of the type of person that was sociable, outdoorsy, and fun-loving, as opposed to Caledon, who looked elegant in a more proper way. "Hello!" he said cheerfully. "My name's Myron Lamas."

Caledon rolled his eyes. "Yes Myron, I believe that she guessed that." He took the hand that she held out and gently kissed the back of it. "A pleasure to meet you Professor McGonagall."

Minerva fought down yet another blush. Stupid Lamia allure. "It's nice to meet you as well. I have often seen Harry reading your letters at meals, and I am so very happy that he has people who care about him. You can see how happy he gets just by the expressions on his face."

Caledon smiled widely. "I am happy that we can help him. It was only my son that kept me from going mad with grief when my Lily was kidnapped, and though I am sad to know that she is dead, the fact that she has had a son has softened that blow."

Minerva paused for a moment. "Pardon me if I sound rude, but what of your wife?" She watched them to see if they would have a negative reaction to her prying, but the only change was the slight dropping of the eyes.

"My wife…is no longer with us," Caledon said with a sigh. He looked down at the floor for a moment. "After Lily was taken, she fell into a deep depression. My wife was half faerie, and as such she was very emotionally invested in her family. This weakness is what led to her downfall a year later, when there was an outbreak of the flu amongst the nearby muggles. Faeries are renowned as the great healers, but…" He lifted his head and gave her a tight smile. "She was weak, too weak. She…faded away." He lifted the cane up by the length of it. "Her last act was to pour her life magic into this jewel, the emerald that had been given to her mother by her father, a faerie. They don't usually have anything to do with humans, and he had to leave. The jewel was kept with her all throughout her life to keep him close. This way I always have her with me, even in death."

Minerva's lips were slightly parted, and she felt absolutely horrible for asking. "I…I'm so sorry for asking. It was so rude of me-"

"No, don't feel bad," he said, smiling for real. "I need to remind myself, so I can remember the best. She was always the best of me, and she would have never wanted me to wallow in pity." He took a deep breath before speaking again. "Now, let's go see my grandson."

* * *

Harry was at the same time eating lunch in the Great Hall, lost in thought. He was nervously anticipating the arrival of Myron and his Granddad. It had been nagging on his thoughts ever since he had replied with a 'yes, of course' to their letter asking if they could come. That had been two days ago, and it was weighing on his thoughts.

He was so busy thinking that he didn't even notice someone come over and sit down next to him. That changed when the person poked him sharply in the shoulder. He turned and looked at the guy. He didn't look like anyone Harry recognized, so he assumed that it was an older Beauxbatons student. He certainly looked like he was from a warm place. "Can I help you?"

The mysterious guy grinned widely and stuck out his hand. "Hiya Harry, my name's Myron. I'm your uncle. Nice to finally meet you face to face."

Harry's jaw dropped and he sat there for a moment before a grin worked its way onto his face and he shook Myron's hand firmly. "Wonderful to meet you finally! I've been looking forward to this for a long time!"

Myron opened his mouth to say something, but whatever it was wasn't heard as Harry felt a hand on his shoulder and look around to meet the eyes of another man, this one older than Myron. It was pretty obvious who he was. "Hello Harry," he said with a warm smile. "I'm sure that you can tell who I am."

Harry's eyes widened. "G-Granddad?" He was answered by a strong hug from the man, and it took all his willpower to keep tears from springing to his eyes. No one really hugged him before. Mrs. Weasley's hugs felt more like she was trying to squish him and Hermione just seemed to be obligated. This one made him feel…safe. And secure. Like no one could harm him. The man pulled back and smiled at him again.

"Told you that we'd be coming!" Myron interjected, swinging an arm around Harry's shoulders. He looked around, seeing that everyone was looking at the little group. "What's everyone looking at?"

Harry couldn't help but burst out laughing as he heard Myron as the seemingly innocent question. Neville grinned from the other side of the table and held out his hand. "Neville Longbottom. I'm Harry's friend."

Myron shook his hand. "Nice to meet Harry's best friend. He has told me about you in one of his letters."

Suddenly Dumbledore stood at the head table, wand in hand. "Who are you?" he demanded. "And what are you doing in _my_ school?"

Caledon turned from where he had been watching Myron and Neville interact to look at the Headmaster, eyes narrowed. "_Your_ school? Bit conceited, aren't you? This school is no more yours than it is anyone's." He turned entirely to face the Head Table, standing tall. "As for my name, I am Caledon Aries Lamas, and I am here to meet my grandson, Harry Potter."

Dumbledore's eyes widened fractionally before glaring at the man. "You have no right to be here."

Caledon just raised an eyebrow, appearing entirely at ease. "Don't I? I am just here to visit my family member, and as you must know, family members are allowed to visit."

"When permitted!" interjected Dumbledore.

Caledon smirked at him and pointed the end of his cane toward Professor McGonagall, who had taken her seat after guiding the duo to the hall. "Why, didn't you know? I _did_ have permission. The Deputy Headmistress, Head of Gryffindor House, and Transfiguration Professor Minerva McGonagall allowed me and my son in."

Dumbledore turned to glare at Minerva. "_You!_ How dare you disobey my authority!" McGonagall ignored him, sipping her drink to hide the triumphant smile.

"Now, what's wrong?" Caledon asked patronizingly. "Don't you have a firm hold on your staff? Well, besides the pet Death Eater you employ." There were several gasps from around the hall, and Caledon turned to look, a mask of innocence on his face. "Oh, didn't you know? Severus Snape was a known Death Eater-"

"Severus has my full and complete trust," interrupted Dumbledore furiously.

"Oh, so that's supposed to be enough? The word of one man with questionable morals? You forced your little spy to be tortured for information?"

Dumbledore scowled. "Severus was needed. It was for the Greater Good."

Caledon's eyes flashed victoriously. "Using quotes from Gellert Grindelwald now? He was well known for using that exact phrasing to justify his acts of violence, and even having it inscribed on the gate of Nurmengard, the prison that he built. I imagine that many of the Durmstrang students had relatives killed by the bloodthirsty man." He turned to look at the Slytherin table, where many of the German students looked ready to hit the man. "Now, if we are done here, I want to get to know my grandson, the last bit of my daughter that I have."

Harry and Myron both stood up as he turned to look at them. With a nod of the head towards Professor McGonagall by Caledon, and a wave to Neville by Harry, the trio walked out of the Great Hall.


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: Sorry to all those people that I told about this hopefully being the peak chapter. This one really got away from me, what with the conversation and discoveries.**

* * *

Caledon led them towards the Transfiguration hallway. "Professor McGonagall has graciously allowed us use of her classroom to talk," he said.

Myron was staring at the enchanted portraits as they passed, occasionally making faces at them. One, of a pompous looking old woman in Victorian garb, glared at him haughtily until he stuck his tongue out at her, after which she looked like she had been slapped by a wet fish.

"So, if you didn't go to Hogwarts, then where did you go to school?" Harry asked Myron as they entered the classroom. Caledon began to throw up a few wards as Myron talked.

"Well, I actually went to a school in Athens, Greece. The interesting thing is that it was a day school, not a boarding school, so I would leave through the floo at seven and get home at four. Dad didn't want me to be gone for too long, or too far away." Myron saw Harry's curious gaze and shrugged slightly. "I was all he had left after Mum died and Lily was kidnapped. He didn't want to be alone."

Harry nodded and stared at him for a moment. "You really look far younger than I pictured."

Myron's mouth pulled into a smile again. "Yea, that is just a part of being a Lamia. We have unnaturally long lives, and can live at least three times as long as most wizards. If I recall my great-grandfather lived to the age of six hundred and thirteen. He inspired Nicholas Flamel to create the Philosopher's stone. If you add in the natural attractiveness that we have, it makes us look young for a very long time." He nodded toward his father. "Dad is almost as old as Dumbledore, and with only a few grey hairs. It can be annoying though; having people ask for your I.D. when you want a drink can get old. It is actually why I neglect to shave and leave stubble; it adds on a year or two. You might want to do that as well, in a few years." He smirked at Harry. "You will probably begin to slow in aging at around like sixteen. It is a bit like that muggle show Doctor Who, and we're like Time Lords. Brilliant, that."

Harry grimaced slightly at the thought. "Ah, well. It is better than immortality. I never have wanted to be truly immortal; having to watch the Earth grow old around you would be a terrible, terrible burden."

"You are very wise for one so young," said Caledon from where he sat in one of the chairs.

Myron snorted. "Quoting J.R.R. Tolkien now?"

Caledon ignored him. "You handled the news of your lineage very well. Most would just hide it away until it gets thrown out into the open in some horrible way."

Harry shrugged. "It was Neville's idea. He has been very supportive of me, unlike my previous friends, Ron and Hermione. They fall in the group that supports Dumbledore in every way." Harry paused. "Ron's younger sister as well. Though, I believe that she is deeply infatuated with me."

Caledon frowned slightly and looked up in thought. "We will probably have to see if there are any bindings or illegal contracts tied to you that we don't know about. If you have been accessible by Dumbledore for all these years, then he might have tried to establish a failsafe. The man is a manipulative old bastard, but he is clever. Myron and I can stop there on the way home, if that is alright with you."

Harry nodded in agreement. "I don't get what his deal is. He doesn't strike me as the 'evil overlord' type."

"No, he isn't evil," muttered Caledon, standing up to go inspect the bookshelves. He continued to talk as he read the names. "Dumbledore is a very old man, who is very set in his ways. When he was younger he was revered as one of the most gifted Transfiguration masters around. That image got twisted slightly into 'most powerful'. Power and finesse are entirely different, as Myron would know. He is exceptionally powerful, but he lacks that eye for detail." Myron gave a dismissive hand wave. "Then, he defeated Gellert Grindelwald," Caledon continued. "After that he was hailed as a second Merlin, and people began to look to him for everything. He has grown used to being the chess master, and having a rogue such as you is disrupting his careful planning. Perhaps he wished to be seen as the mentor of Voldemort's defeater, but knows now that he will receive no credit."

There was silence for a moment. "Or he's just unstable, idiotic, and downright mad," Myron interjected. Harry snickered slightly, and Caledon smirked. "Now, can you show us around this school of yours?"

* * *

As Harry was busy showing his family members the wonders of Hogwarts, several other people in the school were thinking on Harry.

Hermione Granger was extremely angry. Caledon Lamas was a horrible, stupid man! He had stood against and accused _Albus Dumbledore_, the greatest wizard since Merlin! Just like Harry! She had been recruited by Dumbledore at the end of their first year to spy on Harry. She was fine with that; she was only friends with Harry for the notability and lack of teasing, and Dumbledore asking for her help was the greatest honor. Her vault was to help her get a job in the Ministry; she wanted to be the first muggleborn Minister ever. Being the much cleverer friend of the Boy-Who-Lived would have been a huge help, but now it wouldn't work, all because the idiot boy had insisted on using a Dark ability. Dark was evil, Dumbledore said so! They were all fools, unlike her. She was a genius.

Ronald Weasley was straining the depilated hunk of tissue that he called his brain as he shoveled food in his mouth. Ever since the crazy…thing…that happened at the First Task, he and Hermione had lost any and all credibility. They were now shunned by everyone. It was so stupid! He wasn't the one with the evil hissy snake language and ugly snake body. Snakes were Slytherin, and Slytherin mean evil! And now Potter had even more popularity. The only thing that Ron had been able to hold over his head was the fact that the git had no real family, but he did now! An entire family of freaks. 'Well,' he thought as he tried to shove a piece of cake passed the massive food plug blocking his throat. 'At least I get Hermione.'

Fleur Delacour, unlike the other two, was not thinking negative thoughts about Harry Potter. No, she was pondering how much more there was to meet the eye then that scrawny boy with hair like a bird's nest that she had seen after the names were spit out of the Goblet of Fire. Now he was hot, sociable, and a magical creature like her to boot. The hardest thing about being a Veela was finding someone who was immune to the allure. Lamia apparently were like Veela, and they did not affect each other. She had felt his allure sliding off of her like oil. The only other young female that she had been able to see that was immune to his charm was the bushy-haired girl with the last name Granger. However, she seemed to have tied herself to the ginger idiot. No doubt she wanted to be in control; a true Dominatrix. Fleur eyed the doors to the Great Hall. She hoped that Harry Potter would ask her to the upcoming ball; she needed someone that wouldn't just be captivated by her looks.

* * *

Caledon stepped out of the whirling green flames into the Ministry of Magic atrium. He moved out of the way, and his son stumbled out, only being halted on his collision course with the ground by Caledon snagging his arm to haul him upright, before setting off towards the check-in counters.

They had spent four hours with Harry at Hogwarts. They were both quite surprised at the sheer size of Hogwarts, and all its little quirks, like ghosts and moving staircases. Gryffindor Tower had a warm feel, even if the color was a bit gaudy. Harry confessed that he actually preferred green and blue when they asked him what room colors he would like. Harry had also gotten a chance to show them the Quidditch pitch, something he was happy to do since he hadn't gone flying yet since his transformation. It went decently enough, though his new body size and shape made it a bit strange and uneven. He had lost his agility that he gained from his previous slight form.

Myron had also brought up wanting to bring Harry to a certified Healer, something that Caledon agreed with entirely. Harry may have had the boost from his Lamia heritage, but years of neglect still had influenced his body. It made him slim and fit, while he should have been muscular and tall, like Myron. A week's supply of very potent nutrient potions would replace the flat stomach and thin arms with defined muscles and abs. Myron had said that he needed to get Harry ready for swimsuit season, which made Harry blush.

They had also gotten around to writing up a new script for Rita Skeeter to publish in the Daily Prophet about Caledon being alive, and Myron as well. Myron had a great amount of fun putting down all his personal details. They got a picture taken by Colin Creevey to compliment it.

Harry had been very sad to see them go, but brightened as they told him of their attempts to get into the Yule Ball. Myron had promised to send him some _real_ dress robes, as opposed to the cookie-cutter robes that nearly everyone else had, and that Mrs. Weasley had bought him. The Greek wizarding market had dress robes that were much more fashionable and elegant for young wizards, and Myron would spend at least one Saturday a month hanging around the market. Something he now looked forward to doing with Harry.

Caledon sent a glare at the gaudy statue situated outside the Ministry's entrance. None of those were in the least bit accurate, barring perhaps the House-Elf. Wizards caused the other species to side with Voldemort simply by the way they ostracized the non-humans constantly.

He ignored the check-in man holding out his hand for Caledon's wand, instead breezing right through and into the Ministry lobby. He hadn't gotten around to telling Harry, but he worked in the Greek equivalent of the Ministry, as well as had a seat at the International Confederation of Wizards, and therefore didn't need to be checked in. Not that it mattered anyway; the recording was tossed, rendering the entire procedure unnecessary. Myron hurried after him as Caledon stepped into the lift heading to the Department of Magical Contracts and Loans.

Caledon noticed that there was only one person, a woman in her thirties, manning the counters. He smirked to himself. 'Too easy,' he thought. He walked over, cranking his allure up. The woman's head snapped up as he walked over. "Hello," he said, "My name is Caledon Lamas, and I am here to see if there are any active magical contracts connected to my grandson, Harry James Potter." Usually he would go to Gringotts for this sort of thing, however, they wouldn't show any contracts until the time came to carry them out.

The woman blushed heavily and stuttered out something resembling an affirmative. Another benefit of the Ministry: the sheep masquerading as people were pathetically easy to influence. He grabbed the folder from the woman's hands and swept out of the room, stopping only to grab Myron, who was flipping through some magazine for teen witches. Honestly, the things that the boy did sometimes…

* * *

Harry was walking past a group of older French girls from Beauxbatons when he felt a strange feeling like oil running down his skin, and he shuddered involuntarily. He turned towards the group, and he saw Fleur Delacour watching him, her head tilted slightly to the side in thought. He was about to ask what it was, when he realized that it was her allure. 'She has to deal with it, just like me,' he realized. 'Except, she has been dealing with it longer, and she has randy teenage boys, not girls, chasing after her.'

On a sudden spur of the moment idea he walked over to the group. Many of the girls began to gossip to each other in French as they saw him, and when a few giggled he had the overwhelming urge to check if he had something stuck on him, but he ignored it. "Mademoiselle Delacour?" he stated. The girls all looked at her, but Fleur just ignored them, waving them off with her hand.

"What iz it zat you require, Monsieur Potter?" she asked. It was quite a difference in demeanor from earlier in the year. Perhaps the cold exterior was to help push away annoying suitors.

He bowed his head slightly towards her. "Mademoiselle Delacour, if it isn't too much trouble, would you do me the honor of being my date to the Yule Ball?" He looked at her blue eyes the color of the sky unflinchingly, absently noting that they were like the blue counterparts to his eyes.

She stared at him for a moment longer before smiling. "It would be my pleasure Monsieur Potter, and please call me Fleur." She held out her hand.

He smiled widely and took her hand, bending down to kiss the back as an assumption. He had apparently done the right thing, as her smile widened and she nodded. "I do not have much that I can talk about involving the Ball now, but would it be alright if I came to find you the week before so that we could prepare? We are the opening dance, and I don't want to make a fool of myself or embarrass you."

Fleur shook her head, her mane of silvery-blonde hair fluttering in the wind. "_Non_, Monsieur Potter, I do not think zhat is possible, if you are as good a dancer as you are a wordsmith."

He bowed lightly again. "We will see. Until then, my lady." Good lord, he sounded like he was pulled out of the Princess Bride.

Fleur gave him a mock curtsy before laughing and rejoining her friends, waving as she went. He shook his head fondly as he headed on his way to the library.

* * *

Myron winced as he heard another blasting curse make contact with one of the training dummies. Caledon had just finished going through the folder of contracts, and whatever it was had made him angry enough to go down to Myron's exercise room and start blasting the wooden dummies. As a rule, Caledon _never_ went down there. He, unlike his nephew, had the type of attractiveness that an aristocrat had, and he had no need for exercise. Wizards burned fat much faster and Lamia faster still. The training room was for Myron to keep himself muscular, as his appearance focused on an almost roguish charm. Harry would probably make use of the room as well.

Myron peeked in, and his eyes widened as he saw the state of it. Every single training dummy or piece of workout gear had been torn to shreds and flung across the room. Caledon was in his Lamia form, eyes glowing with the Killing Gaze, teeth oozing venom, and wand in hand, glowing with a purple light. Myron didn't have to worry about the gaze; it didn't work on other Lamia or Basilisks. His father put down the wand when he saw Myron come in and began to shift back to human form.

"Well…that was explosive," said Myron weakly. "What caused that?"

Caledon scowled again as he took deep breaths from where he was standing with his hands on his knees. "Dumbledore commissioned a contract for Harry when he was two years old. _Two_! Apparently, Harry is now magically and legally bound to marry that girl he was complaining about, Ginny Weasley! Worse, it also creates an artificial will in place of a real one, stating that upon his death or marriage to her all his money, every last knut, will be given to that bitch's family!" Another spell shot from his wand, disintegrating the mangled dummy arms lying in a pile. "And, he has to conceive a child with her within a year or he will lose his magic! He can't even off her, directly or indirectly, as that would kill him!"

Myron gasped, his worry morphing into a raging hatred and anger. How _dare_ that disgusting old man try to control Harry! How _dare_ they try to force that on him! "Well they've got another thing coming," Myron growled, his ocean-blue eyes alighting with an inner fire. "_No one_ messes with our family _No one._"

* * *

**A/N: ****Please notify me of any spelling or grammatical errors (unless they are so minuscule that they don't matter. I just meant he/she slip-ups and that type of thing).**


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: For all my devoted followers who have wondered what mysterious 'peak' I alluded to, here it is.**

**To quote Amelia Pond: "OK kid, this is where it gets complicated."**

* * *

Far, far away from the troubles of the wizards and mortals, another force was lurking. A creature older than any other living thing still in existence, and older than any mortal memory, bound and imprisoned in a wall made of solid glass. Its name was mentioned only in the darkest of context, and was a harbinger of only one thing: death.

Normally this creature would sleep, as it had done many years before, its mind reaching out across the plains of existence, its soul embedding wickedness into the hearts of men. It had only woken once before during the millennia of its imprisonment in the dark void where it lay. That awakening had been an attempt to cut off the last vein of High Magic from this world, but alas it failed.

The creature felt the stirrings of change on the Earth, and the all-seeing eye of it began to race toward its destination. The Schism was fast approaching, and when the time came…its freedom would be within its grasp.

A deep rumbling laugh sounded from the empty halls and darkest caves of the world, and on an island far away, every single Dementor looked to the sky.

* * *

Voldemort gave a sickly, triumphant smile as he wrote down the last of his calculations with a flourish of the quill. It was finally done, three days before the solstice. All that was needed was to prepare the cauldron the evening before and to bring Potter. Wormtail had done excellently in procuring the potion ingredients (not that he would ever hear Voldemort say that).

He summoned a book called _Magic and Its Influence in the Body_ from across the room, scowling at how pathetically _weak_ this simple act of magic made him feel. If he was right, the rebirthing of his new body would lead to him looking like a half-snake hybrid. Not that he had anything against that, but he didn't want his physical prowess to be diminished. He had enough time to stimulate the effects of special 'enhancements' that he had given himself before the fall, so he wouldn't be deprived of them.

He felt the ring on his bony finger warm slightly, signifying a Death Eater entering the wards. Barty came in a second later. "My Lord," he murmured, bowing low to the floor. "It is done. The wards around the Great Hall have been altered to allow my portkey through. I will steal Potter away during the dancing, and in the confusion he will not be noticed."

"Good," hissed Voldemort, angling his body to face his loyal servant. "And it is a two-way, correct? I will need to use it to break into Hogwarts as soon as my body is restored. Be sure to tell Wormtail to have my robes ready."

"Yes, My Lord."

Voldemort smiled again. "You have served me well Barty. When the time comes for you to stand by my side, I will remember this loyalty. Now, go back to Hogwarts and be ready. The time is approaching."

Barty nodded and hurried from the room. Voldemort turned to look at his pet snake, Nagini, whose venom was responsible for his current homunculus. **_:The time is now, Master?:_** she hissed.

He chuckled lowly and ran a finger down her massive head as she moved to the arm of the chair. **_:Not yet my dear, but soon.:_**

* * *

The days before the Yule Ball flew by for Harry. The teachers began to pile loads of homework onto the students so that they could have their quota for the semester done, and the elves were often seen polishing suits of armor and dusting long-forgotten corridors. The portraits were playing massive games of telephone all across the castle as they too prepared for the Ball.

Harry hadn't seen Myron or Caledon again, but he had been in regular correspondence. More with Myron, because Caledon seemed distracted by something. When he asked Myron in a letter, Myron replied that it was a troubling bit of paperwork that he was trying to find a loophole in, and not to bother prying. Myron had also gotten around to sending him some nice dress robes. Actually, they were his own from a decade before. They were a dark green, with lining of a silvery blue. It was almost a cross between a Greek chiton and a wizarding robe. The exterior was more like a cape, and the interior was two inter-lapping lightweight silk garments that reached down to his ankles. It came with shoes that were a bit like formal boots. He had showed it to Fleur, and she had gushed about the material and the color before deciding to get a matching French set. They hadn't really had lots of contact, but he found her fun to be around.

Professor Moody seemed to be getting more paranoid as the Ball approached. A few days before he was seen patrolling the hallways, firing Stunners at anything that moved. The House-Elves had taken to squealing and running whenever they saw 'Mean-Eye Moody', as they had dubbed him.

Ron and Hermione were going as dates to the ball, apparently. Ron had tried to ask Fleur Delacour, and the following disdainful glare from her had nearly made Ron wet himself. As soon as he had run away everyone in hearing distance (bar Hermione, who just looked angry at Fleur) burst out in raucous laughter. The running rumor was that, two nights before the ball, he had looked at Hermione in the middle of lunch and said "Hey Hermione, you're a girl! We can go to the ball!" Hermione was extremely insulted, but she had no other choice if she wanted to go, so she had accepted.

Before Harry knew it the night of the Yule Ball had come. He had headed up two hours before to start to get ready. Seamus and Dean had asked why, while Neville just raised an eyebrow. "Well," Harry had said. "I want to look good, not rushed. Besides, now that I actually _can_ look good I will utilize that."

When he was finished, a half-hour before the start of ball, he draped himself in the Invisibility Cloak and headed down to Fleur's carriage so that he could escort her. Myron had told him that it was the gentlemanly thing to do.

When he stopped outside he knocked on the door after removing the cloak. It was opened by a French boy with straight black hair in silky blue dress robes. "Can you please get me Fleur Delacour?" Harry asked. The boy opened his mouth to respond, but whatever he was going to say was lost as he was pushed aside by Fleur herself, on her way out.

She looked radiant. She wore long, shimmering, overlapping layers of blue silk, inlaid with the occasional tiny crystal, like dewdrops. The bottom was a dark green trim, and she wore a silver tiara with a large emerald in the center. She truly looked like a princess. Her face lit up when she saw Harry. "'arry!" she cried, sweeping down the stairs. "_Se magnifique!_ You look wonderful!"

He grinned and bowed his head slightly. "Thank you, but may I say that you put my outfit to shame." He held out his forearm. "Now, may I escort thee to the Entrance Hall for our grand presentation?"

She smiled, nodded, and took his arm. He walked her to the Entrance Hall, where only Cedric and Cho were. "Hello Harry," said Cedric with a smile as he saw him. "You do look spiffy. Mademoiselle Delacour, you look positively radiant."

They exchanged greetings, and as they stood there Krum arrived with some German girl, who he didn't look too happy about bringing. Rumor was that he had been infatuated with Hermione until she defended the man that had quoted the insane tyrant responsible for his great-uncle's murderer.

McGonagall hurried in, hat slightly askew. "Alright, Champions? You all have your partners?" Her gaze moved over them, and she smiled slightly as she saw Harry with Fleur. "Alright, I think that first will be Mr. Diggory, followed by Mr. Krum, with Ms. Delacour and Mr. Potter in the rear. You will head to the Head Table and eat, after which is the dance. You will open it, and then everyone will mingle around the edges or dance." She stepped to the side as the doors began to open. "Good luck."

* * *

Barty crept around the edge of the hall, still in his Moody disguise (of course). There was ten minutes until the solstice began, and he needed Potter _now_. Suddenly the magical eye found the brat filling two cups with punch, at the edge of the hall, directly near the side door out to the gardens. 'Perfect,' he thought.

"Potter," he spat in Moody's gruff voice as he limped over. The boy looked up, innocent surprise on his face.

"Oh, hello Professor," he said calmly, placing the drinks down on the table in front of him. "I'm a bit surprised to see you here; I didn't think that parties were really your thing."

"They're usually not," Moody said, subtly inching in the direction of the garden. "However, there is something very important that I have to tell you. It's very confidential, and I don't trust his room. Follow me this way a bit."

Potter snorted slightly, but followed, completely oblivious. "What doesn't bother you?" he murmured under his breath. They walked down the short hallway and then turned the corner, officially out of sight. The moment they weren't visible to the party-goers, Barty shot an _Incarcerous_ at Potter, grinning as he was tied up. 'Not so special Lamia instincts now.'

"Professor Moody!" gasped Harry in shock, trying to wriggle out of the binds. "What's going on?"

Barty didn't even bother replying, instead grabbing a tight hold of Potter and pulling a thick cord out of his pocket. "_Morsmordre_," he intoned. Potter didn't even have time to blink in surprise before they were whisked away by the portkey.

Barty landed firmly on his feet in the second story room of the Riddle House, while Potter fell to the ground with a loud thud and a groan. He ignored the boy, instead pulling him over to the large chair already set aside and throwing him in. The chair was specifically prepared for this purpose; the boy couldn't leave during the process, and the chair wouldn't move either.

"Wha-what's going on?" the boy gasped out as he struggled within his bonds.

"I believe that I can answer that Mr. Potter," said a voice from nearby. The boy turned and his jaw dropped as he saw the man that had destroyed his life.

* * *

"You!" Harry breathed as he saw the disgusting, child-like creature lounging in an overstuffed reclining chair. "How are you here?"

Voldemort (for it was obviously he) sneered and made a waving gesture to Moody. The old auror hobbled over to a large cauldron set about a foot over a small fire and began to add more fire, increasing the flame to a bonfire-like size.

"Now really," asked Voldemort patronizingly. "Did you honestly think that you could kill_ me_? You cannot harm me, I am immortal." He laughed. "Welcome to Riddle House in Little Hangleton, the home of my despicable muggle father."

Harry turned and saw Wormtail approaching, his arms stretched out with a long cloth draped over them. On the cloth was a long knife. A chill ran down Haryr's spine.

"Oh, don't worry Mr. Potter," Voldemort purred as he fingered the long yew wand in his hands. "This isn't going to be used to kill you." Harry didn't bother with hope; there was more to that sentence. "No, this will be used to resurrect me." Yep, definitely worse.

"What does that mean?" asked Harry, pretending to be entirely at ease. "You're not exactly dead."

Voldemort scowled at him. "Your puny mind could barely comprehend it. It would be like trying to explain Arithmacy to a goldfish."

Harry blinked. Did Voldemort just…make a joke?

"It's ready My Lord," said Moody from his place by the cauldron. The fire was large and hot, and Harry could hear whatever was in it boiling.

Voldemort's smile was instantly back, making him look even more like a snake than Harry. "Good. Now, Barty, take the ritual knife and _carefully_ use the tip to trace Potter's scar, deep enough to draw blood. Wormtail, carry me to the cauldron."

Harry tried to follow Voldemort with his eyes, but was stopped as the man—Barty—walked over to him, holding the large knife. He grabbed Harry's chin to hold him still. Harry would have fought more, but he didn't want to lose an eye. When the knife began to cut into his scar it _hurt_, far more than he expected. Somewhere in the back of his mind he realized that it wasn't a normal knife. The pain seemed to last for an eternity before Barty pulled away, the tip of the knife smeared with crimson blood.

"Good," said Voldemort, from where Wormtail was holding him disturbingly like a baby. "The ritual lines are drawn, the potion prepared, the soul bond forged. Now take the knife and drop it in the cauldron after I rid myself of this shell and enter it."

Harry watched in horror as the grotesque body began to writhe and bubble, like melting wax. Wormtail shrieked and dropped the oozing mass just as _something _sprang out of it. It was like a ghost, except it was only a head, and it was black instead of translucent blue. The dark entity screeched as it was launched through the air and into the cauldron.

Barty stood above the cauldron, holding the knife by the handle over it. "My Lord," he murmured. "The time has come. Be reborn." And he dropped the knife.

And night exploded into day.

* * *

Myron frowned as he saw Fleur Delacour sitting at her table alone. He walked over and leaned down to her. "Excuse me," he whispered. She turned and smiled weakly at him. "Where is that nephew of mine? I can't find him anywhere."

She frowned and looked around. "I…I am not sure. He went to get us drinks, but has been gone far too long. It doesn't feel right."

Myron stepped up onto the table, unabashedly scanning the crowd. He was shocked to see that Harry wasn't among them. "The only way he could have gone is to the garden," said Myron as he hopped down. "I believe that we should check there."

The two of them hurried out that way, scanning for Harry. Myron turned the corner and saw a torn shred of dark green cloth, with the corner a memorable shade of sky blue. "Oh no," he gasped as he stared at it. He turned to Fleur. "We have to get my father. Harry has been taken."

* * *

Harry wasn't sure what was happening. There was wind like a hurricane blowing from all directions, and a blinding light originating from the cauldron like a star was trapped in there. The wind had blasted him off of the chair, and his tail had helped him slide from the ropes. He fumbled around blindly, searching for a way out. He was beginning to lose hope when he tripped over something. It was a thick cord, and he suddenly remembered that the portkey was one too. 'Please work, please work,' he thought as he grabbed it tightly.

"_Morsmordre_," he whispered, and felt the hook around his navel as he was teleported away. The last thing he heard was a high, piercing scream.

* * *

"Everyone calm down!" cried Cornelius Fudge from his place at the front of the hall. Everyone had panicked when they had heard that Harry Potter had been nabbed right from Hogwarts itself. "I'm sure that everything is fine, and Mr. Potter merely lost his way. Everything will be alright."

That was when a bleeding and battered Harry Potter portkeyed directly into the middle of the hall.

Almost everyone gasped and jumped back, except for Myron, Fleur, Neville and Caledon, who all rushed forward to help him. Harry was coughing as they helped him sit up.

"Merlin, child!" cried Fudge as he saw the abused form of Harry Potter. "What happened to you?"

Harry gave a tremendous cough. "Moody…portkey…Riddle House…Little Hangelton." He shuddered. "A Death Eater…he was trying to resurrect Voldemort!"

There were shrieks of fear and horror as the message echoed around the hall. The blood drained from Fudge's face. "T-That's not possible! H-He's dead!"

Harry shuddered. "I don't know if he is…but if it worked, we are all in terrible danger."

Next thing that Harry knew a strict looking woman with grey hair and a monocle came running up. "My name is Amelia Bones, Head of Magical Law Enforcement. Where was this child?"

"Riddle House…Little Hangleton," he croaked before finally collapsing. She nodded and turned to Fudge.

"I don't know if what he said is true, but I am getting my aurors and heading to check and see. If He is back, then we must be ready."

Fudge looked horrible conflicted, like he wanted nothing more than to deny it. Then he saw the faces all turned to him, and he decided that it couldn't hurt. "Yes, yes that is a good idea. Go."

* * *

Kingsley Shacklebolt grimaced as he stepped through what was left of the Riddle House. It had been nearly leveled by whatever Harry Potter witnessed, and it reminded him of the destruction at Godric's Hollow. The explosion seemed to originate from the room in the back corner of the first floor.

He picked his way through the wreckage towards the melted lump of metal that he assumed was once a cauldron, albeit one big enough for a grown man to sit in quite comfortably. Whatever this ritual was, it was made with the result, or perhaps main ingredient, in mind to be something quite large. If Voldemort was attempting to come back…or if he did…they were doomed.

As he stepped he suddenly heard a groan from nearby. He held up a hand to signal the other aurors to be silent as he walked over. He could see a pale leg sticking out from under a piece of drywall. He summoned Nymphradora Tonks over, and together they pushed the piece of wall aside, revealing the person underneath.

Tonks let out a massive gasp and staggered back a few steps, her hair turning shock-white. "Dear Merlin!" she gasped, staring at the body beneath. "That's not possible! Is that-"

"It certainly looks like a certain person," Kingsley said grimly as he stared at the features, exactly as he remembered them. "Though there is no way. That…is Lily Potter."

* * *

**A/N: And there it is. What I have been building to. Sorry if the chapter seemed cramped, I was trying to keep away from the dry, talk-y bits. This is where things start to get interesting.**


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: I dedicate this chapter to my dedicated readers: QueenLyssa, The hazel-eyed bookworm, Liquid Twilight, Extended Experience, sunsethill, greenwings33, and all others (these are simply the ones that I actually have been in correspondence with recently).**

* * *

Lily was dreaming. Or at least, that is the only explanation she had for whatever it was that she saw. It wasn't even a dream so much as a series of random images and scenes flying by. The last thing that she remembered was Voldemort firing the Killing Curse at her, and then…nothing.

It had been a perfectly ordinary night. James was playing with Harry on the couch, her beautiful baby boy giggling as he tried to grab the puffs of smoke from his daddy's wand in his tiny little fists. It was weird to picture her little boy being the destroyer of Voldemort. When she thought of his conqueror she thought of a grown man in golden armor, wielding a sword as he cut down evil. Then again, for all she knew, Harry would look like that in twenty years or so. But, based just off of now, he would truly be his daddy's boy in appearance.

"James, time to take Harry up to bed," she said as she came in, hands on her hips.

James handed Harry to her as he reached up and stretched, yawning. Suddenly there was a wail as the alarms went off, signifying the wards falling. "Lily, it's him! Take Harry and run, I'll hold him off!" James cried.

Lily grabbed Harry and ran up the stairs, hearing Voldemort begin to speak.

"Ah, Mr. Potter," said Voldemort. "How are you this beautiful evening? I've just stopped by to see your wonderful son."

She let out a dry sob as she heard the incantation for the Killing Curse, then silence. Lily hurried into Harry's nursery and locked the door, knowing that there was no way out. Somehow he had managed to throw up wards all around the house to prevent apparition. She had hoped that the windows would open so she could fly James's broom out, but no such luck.

As Lily heard him begin to climb the stairs she pulled out her wand. It was time to enact an old spell she found in the library of Potter Manor. It was Soul Magic, one of the oldest types of magic known to mankind. She had found a ritual of sacrifice, meant to protect the one you loved most if you died for them. She whispered out the incantation, leaning down to kiss Harry on the forehead to seal the bond. She felt her soul be tied to his as the bond formed, and just in time. The door was blasted open.

Voldemort strode into the nursery just as Lily whipped around, wand in hand, ready to defend her son until her last breath had left her body. "You monster! Leave Harry alone!" She was crying and she felt her hand shaking, but she stood strong.

"Stand aside little girl. I don't want to kill you; just your son," he hissed.

"No!" she screamed. "_Avada Kedavra!_" She wouldn't have normally resorted to a spell such as that, but she didn't care about laws now. He dodged with ease, and her wand was suddenly ripped from her grasp by a silent _Expelliarmus._

"Foolish girl," he hissed. "_Avada Kedavra_!" The Killing Curse sped towards her almost in slow motion, and she closed her eyes as the deadly light washed over her.

'I'm so sorry Harry,' was her last thought as she felt her limbs give way like the cut strings of a marionette. 'I'm so sorry.' As her soul detached itself from her body she heard she shrill cry of a baby.

However, she was not met with her husband, angry at her for abandoning their son to the throes of a madman, as she thought, but by a peaceful nothingness. It made her mind lethargic and sleepy. She caught flashes in her dreams of another life. A boy who looked so much like James, but with her green eyes, being bullied by a group of larger boys. The boy staring in wonderment at the enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall of Hogwarts.

'Is that…Harry?' she wondered as she saw him sitting on a broom over a Quidditch pitch, fifty feet in the air. She couldn't see much, just a flash every once in a while. It was like waking from slumber long enough to get a quick glimpse of the surroundings. 'No, of course not. Harry is alive, and I'm…dead.'

She fell into slumber again, her focus waning. Every once in a while she would feel what was like a tug on her consciousness, but it was never enough to move her from the emptiness of her mind, or what she assumed was her mind. It only felt like it had been a day at most in between her sleeping, but it may have been longer. Perhaps after death was nothingness, and nothing would ever happen.

Then came the fierce pull. She hadn't expecting it; a sudden lurch, yanking her through the whiteness. Just for a moment the white flickered out, and there was darkness, before returning. She no longer felt sleepy, instead feeling terrified and wide awake. Suddenly the pull came again, stronger, and she was unable to resist. The white vanished into the darkness like stars amongst space, and she felt a burning pain all over her body, like her skin was melting. When she thought that she could hold onto her sanity no longer it stopped, and she thought it was done. Then there was the explosion.

* * *

Lily's eyes snapped open, her chest heaving as she pumped air in and out of her lungs. Her vision swam into focus, and she saw a grey stone ceiling above her. She tried to sit up, but her muscles felt strange and unused. As she tried to talk her tongue just lurched around in her mouth, making incoherent sounds. She stopped moving and lay there for a moment as she let herself get reacquainted with her body, before trying to sit up again. It worked.

She leaned her body up against the wall behind her, turning her head sluggishly to look around the room. It was about twelve feet by twelve feet, made from dark grey stone. Against the wall to her left were a toilet and a sink, and she realized that she was sitting on a cot. A prison cell then. But why? Maybe Voldemort had captured her, not killed her, and this was his prison.

Her train of thought was cut off as a rectangular section of the wall across from her vanished, and in stepped a slightly older woman with a monocle and dark blue robes. Auror robes. Were the Death Eaters trying to make her comfortable before interrogating her?

The woman's face was entirely blank, like a mask. It was obvious that she was trying to hide any emotion. Perhaps disdain? They all thought that Lily was a mudblood, even if she wasn't. Only James and she knew the results of that test to determine her birthparents.

"Good evening," the woman said, waving her wand to conjure a plain wooden table and two chairs in the middle of the room. "My name is Amelia Bones, Head of the DMLE."

Lily started involuntarily. Amelia Bones? Lily had met her a few times, when James had a Ministry convention that Lily would accompany him to as Lady Potter. But this woman was too old to be her. She ran her tongue along the inside of her mouth for a moment so that she wouldn't warble. "You're lying."

The woman's started slightly. "Excuse me?"

"You're lying," said Lily, shaking her head. "Amelia isn't as old as you. I met her a few months ago, at the Ministry gala. She has brown hair, and not as many wrinkles."

The Amelia look-alike's face hardened. "Well, excuse me if I have doubts myself, considering Lily Potter has been dead for a long time."

Lily froze, her gaze focusing on Amelia. "W-What did you say? I…dead?"

Amelia eyed her for a long moment in silence. "When you and James went to that gala, what was I wearing?"

Lily scowled at her, but was now less sure that this was a copy. "If you really are Amelia. She—you—were wearing black robes lined with gold. When I asked why the Gryffindor color, you said that you were trying to honor your Hufflepuff heritage, and that yellow was tacky." Lily's eyes narrowed. "My turn. What was I wearing, and what did James say about it?"

Amelia's mask had broken at Lily's answer, and her eyes had widened so much that the monocle fell out. She blinked a few times before registering the question. "You were wearing emerald green," she whispered, her voice filling the room nonetheless. "James said that it matched your beautiful eyes, and that if Slytherin House had color like your eyes then it was their honor."

Lily gasped, her hand flying to her throat. It was true, and it had made her smile so brightly when he had said it. "A-Amelia?"

Amelia stared at her again, her eyes looking suspiciously shiny. Then she cleared her throat and wiped her monocle off before turning to look back at the door. "Bring in the Veritaserum," she intoned. The opening reappeared and a small man scurried in with a vial of clear fluid, like water. He was followed by two people, aurors as well by the robes. She recognized one as Kingsley Shacklebolt; he had been in the Order. The other was a woman with green hair that was staring unabashedly at Lily. "That was just a preliminary test, whoever you are," continued Amelia as if the others weren't there. "To see if you at least knew something about her life. All the questions in the world wouldn't rat out a good Legilimens. If you really want to prove who you are, you will take this without complaint. Aurors Shacklebolt and Tonks are here to verify that I asked the questions I am." Lily noticed Auror Tonks holding a pen and quill. "Auror Tonks will record the questions and answers."

Lily eyed the bottle hesitantly before nodding. It wasn't like she could give up any private information now; her family was gone, just her left. It hadn't really hit her yet, mostly due to the interrogation. She was in shock, and soon the grief would set in. She opened her mouth and held out her tongue. Amelia let three drops fall onto her tongue, and the haze began to settle over her mind.

"What is your full name?" asked Amelia.

"Lily Marie Potter née Evans."

There were gasps from all members of the room other than Lily, and the green-haired girl began to write quickly. "What is the name of your son?" continued Amelia.

Lily winced inwardly, even if her face remained blank. The answer spilled from her lips. "Hadrian James Caledon Potter."

"Why that name?"

Again, the answer was pulled from her. "For Harry's father and my birthfather. I did a test at Gringotts when James suspected that I was adopted." There was a strange expression on Amelia's face, but it passed before Lily could analyze it.

"Who was your Secret Keeper?"

"Peter Pettigrew."

"That's a lie!" hissed Kingsley suddenly. "It was-"

"Quiet, Auror Shacklebolt," said Amelia, holding a hand up to silence him. She focused her attention back on Lily. "Why not Sirius Black?"

"He was too obvious. He was a decoy. I was against it."

"How did you survive Voldemort's attack?"

"I don't know. The last thing I did was to attempt to use sacrificial magic to protect Harry with a soul bond when I died." Lily shuddered as she remembered the cry of a child. 'I failed him,' she thought miserably.

Amelia's face was totally shocked, far more than Lily expected. She wondered why. "Last question. What species are you?"

"Human." Why on Earth was that asked?

"Administer the antidote," said Amelia, standing from her chair. Kingsley poured the potion into her mouth, and she nearly gagged at the taste. It was vile, so unlike Veritaserum. She may be an excellent Potions brewer but that didn't mean that she _liked_ the things that she brewed.

"Madame Bones?" asked Tonks hesitantly, stepping forward. "What should I do now?"

Amelia turned to look at Tonks, smiling for real. "Go to see the Minister and show him your transcript. Tell him that I am on my way up. It's her. Lily Potter has come back from the dead." Amelia turned back to Lily, still smiling. "Hold on tight Lily. Everything will be fine now."

As Lily watched Amelia leave the room she lay back down on the cot, curled into a ball, and cried. 'No,' she thought, her mind flooding with the memories of her handsome and charming husband, and her beautiful, perfect son Harry. 'Nothing is alright. Nothing will ever be alright again.'

She cried for ten minutes before exhaustion took her and she drifted off to sleep, dried tear tracks on her face.

* * *

"It's not possible!" protested Fudge from behind his desk. After the utter fiasco at the Ball yesterday, he was all set and ready to have this Potter-poser locked up. He was _not_, however, expecting her to be _real_. "People cannot come back from the dead! It defies the laws of magic!"

"And yet they were trying to resurrect Voldemort," hisses Amelia, ignoring Fudge's wince. "Lily said that she used sacrificial magic to save Harry Potter. Potter said that Voldemort initiated a soul bond to recreate his body. Maybe he recreated the wrong one."

"Voldemort is dead!" cried Fudge, slamming his palm down on the desk. "Harry Potter killed him!"

"HOW DO YOU KNOW!" bellowed Amelia, the force of her yell making Fudge stumble backwards and into his chair. She sighed and rubbed a finger against her temple. "I apologize Minister. It's just…the only proof we had that he had died was a pile of empty robes and the testament of Albus Dumbledore, who has, in recent news, been found to not be as stable as we once thought. The only thing that we know for sure is that it was the Killing Curse, due to the _Priori Incantatem_. Heck, for all we know, after Potter survived Voldemort—oh for the love of Merlin stop flinching—the mad bastard ran from the house stark naked." Fudge winced again at the mere thought. Amelia leaned forward to look him in the eyes. "Or maybe he was just banished. We know very little of high level Dark Magic."

"B-But Sirius Black was the Secret Keeper!" Fudge cried (or more like whined).

Amelia raised an eyebrow. "Again, we were told that by Dumbledore and our own assumptions. I checked the records; he never got a trial. Maybe you can organize one now." She saw him pale in nervousness, and she cursed the incompetency of her Minster. "I doubt that you would be despised for him not having a trial. It was Minister Bagnold that did that, and you would be seen as righting a wrong. But anyway, none of that now. We need to focus on Lily Potter. It matches up perfectly. If she took only a heritage test then she wouldn't know of her species. Any poser would; it has been all over every newspaper in Britain. She also used her adoptive name, which shows that it is what she is used to. It all matches up. Besides, why act like this is a bad thing? Two people have survived Voldemort! One less body to add to the list of the dead! Imagine how that will help public morale."

That got him. Fudge, as always, only cared about what his precious public had to say. He nodded and scribbled a note down on a scrap of paper. It folded itself into a paper airplane and took off. "This is headed down to the records department to retrieve Lily Potter's death certificate. However, the process will take at least twelve hours."

Amelia added up the time in her head and nodded. "That's fine. We can send her home on the 24th and announce it to the world on Christmas Day." She gave a soft chuckle. "Harry Potter is a very lucky boy. He gets his mother for Christmas."

* * *

When Amelia walked back into the holding cell, she saw Lily curled up on the cot, asleep, with tear-tracks on her face. The table and chairs had long since faded away; conjured items only lasted as long as the user's magical power, and while no slouch, Amelia was no powerhouse. She shifted the large bundle of newspapers in her arm as she walked in, and she sat down in the chair that Tonks had brought in. "Lily?" she whispered, nudging the sleeping woman's arm.

Lily blinked her eyes sleepily, and then turned to look up at Amelia. "They're dead," she whispered.

Ah, so that was what this was about. It was finally crashing down on her. "Lily, please. I need to tell you something."

"Why does it matter?" asked Lily, her voice empty and broken, like a shell. "You're still talking, but it doesn't matter. My husband and son…my beautiful boys…they're dead."

"Listen Lily," said Amelia, pulling Lily upright. "I know it hurts. When my brother and his wife were killed it felt like the world was coming crashing down on me. But then I realized that my niece, my Susan, needed me."

"But who needs me?" sobbed Lily, the tears running warm and free. "I failed them!"

"No!" Amelia cried, snagging the top copy of the newspaper, dated from November 1st, 1981. She held the title up for Lily to see. **Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived**. "Your sacrifice worked, Lily! He lived!"

Lily was staring at the paper, frozen mid-sob, her hand grabbing her face. "…What?"

"You saved him," Amelia whispered softly. "You said that you sacrificed yourself for Harry to save him, and it worked. He lived, but you died. Then, yesterday, Harry was kidnapped by a Death Eater who was trying to resurrect Voldemort, but he brought back you instead."

Lily was staring at the page with nothing but hope. Deep, yearning, _hope_. Then it switched to horror. "V-Voldemort? H-He k-k-kidnapped Harry?" Of course, as a mother, she would focus on that.

"No," whispered Amelia, "He escaped. He was very brave, just like his parents."

Lily's eyes slowly slid upwards to meet Amelia's. "Harry…how long have I been gone? He escaped…how old is he?"

Amelia winced at that. She had been hoping to break it to Lily slowly, but nope, it would be all in a rush. "You were…killed…October 31st 1981. The date now…is December 22nd -"

"What!"

"1994."

Lily slumped back onto the bed. "Thirteen years," she breathed. "Oh my god. It has been thirteen years." She looked up at Amelia. "H-Harry? H-He lived that night, so…he's…fourteen?"

Amelia nodded. "Yes, in fourth year at Hogwarts. He is in Gryffindor, and one of the top students from what I hear. The most handsome boy in school as well." No need to explain what that was; Lily would see for herself.

Lily didn't seem to question the comment. "My baby boy's a teenager? Nearly a man? Fourteen years old…oh Lord." She broke down into sobs again.

Amelia crouched down next to her. "Lily! Lily, what's wrong?"

"Nothing!" gasped Lily, and the sobs began to morph into hysterical laughter. "He's alive! My son is alive!" Then she tried to stand, but Amelia pushed her back down. Lily met Amelia's eyes with a fierce glare that reminded the woman that Lily was part Basilisk. "I want to see him."

"I'm afraid that you can't do that."

"Why not?!"

"We haven't announced it to the world yet. Harry doesn't even know that you're alive." Lily began to crumple into herself again. "But, I brought you some newspapers. Many of them have articles about Harry. He's famous you know, for surviving the Killing Curse. I have ordered them with the earliest on the top, so feel free-"

She was cut off as Lily lunged for the pile, a desperate look on her face. Amelia felt another small smile grace her face as she slipped out of the room to allow Lily her privacy. Yes, things were looking up.

* * *

The same thought was racing through the mind of the creature of darkness, bound in a prison eternal. The Schism was soon, and he would finally be able to free his soul, if not his body, from this infernal cage the Ancient Ones had entombed him in.

He had found a perfect host for his powerful soul. A mortal on Earth, self-styled into the infamous 'Lord Voldemort', and elevated to immortality through the greatest act of desperation: Horcruxes. It showed that the man (if he still could be called that) had the drive to succeed that the Dark One so admired. Even better, the missing soul pieces would leave plenty of room for him to enter.

He sent out a telepathic probe to the leftover spirit of the man, lurking in a forest in Ireland. Ironic for the heir of the Snake King. The man was desperate now, desperate enough even to listen to the Dark One's offer.

Yes, things were moving along nicely.

* * *

**A/N: Please notify me if there are any discrepancies in the questioning. My brain is fried as I write this.**


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: You know, I am really spoiling the lot of you with my constant updates.**

**I dedicate this chapter to my faraway readers in places like Kazakstan, Croatia, Sri Lanka, Maldives, Isle of Man, Slovakia, Faroe Islands, Estonia, Singapore, Czech Revar, Serbia, and the others. Thanks so much, seeing that places so far away have read really lifts my spirits!**

* * *

Lily tore into the papers, searching for any information she could find. The first one she grabbed was dated two days after Halloween, 1981.

_Sirius Black Arrested!_

_It has just been discovered that the reason the Potters were attacked two days ago, on Halloween, is Sirius Black. Sirius Black was their Secret Keeper for the Fidelius Charm, and as long as he stayed loyal they would be completely safe from He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. He was arrested and sentenced to Azkaban last night at a muggle street after murdering Peter Pettigrew and twelve muggles._

_For more information on the Fidelius Charm go to page 3_

_For more information on the Black family go to page 5_

Lily let out a choked sob as she read the paragraph. Sirius was in Azkaban? Oh, she _knew_ that Peter was a horrible choice. His animagus was a rat for the love of god! But James, sweet loyal James, had never believed that one of his friends could betray him, and if one did it would be Remus. But if Sirius went to Azkaban, then where was Harry? She dug through for the next one with Harry, but was shocked to find that it was dated ten years later.

_Harry Potter in Diagon Alley_

_The Boy-Who-Lived, Harry Potter, was spotted today in Diagon Alley, the day of his 11__th__ birthday. He was accompanied by Rubeus Hagrid, the groundskeeper of Hogwarts. He has been described as bearing a remarkable resemblance to his father, the late Lord James Potter. If this is the first time that Harry Potter has been seen in the wizarding world for a decade, where has he been all this time?_

_For more information on the Boy-Who-Lived go to page 2_

'Where was he for a decade?' thought Lily, her mind racing. 'If he didn't go to Sirius then he should have gone to the Longbottoms, then to Minerva, and if no one was available then to an orphanage. That must have been what happened.' She ignored the next few papers, digging through as she looked for a picture. There were a few miscellaneous ones, something about Nicholas Flamel, and…there!

_Gilderoy Lockhart's Book Signing_

_ Yesterday Gilderoy Lockhart, famed book writer and vanquisher of evil creatures far and near, was in Diagon Alley hosting a book signing. He also made the announcement that, in the upcoming Hogwarts school year, he will be holding the position of Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor. Below is a picture of Gilderoy Lockhart with Harry Potter, who came to get his books for the new school year._

Lily nearly started sobbing again as she stared at her son. He was so tall! It was hard to believe that he little baby was the boy seen in this picture. He looked almost eerily like James, with his glasses and bird's nest hair, but she could see that the eyes, even in the black and white picture, were hers. He looked extremely uncomfortable as the man (Lockhart?) beamed at the camera. Harry was glancing around nervously, and looked like he wanted nothing more than to bolt.

She ran a finger down his image, feeling a smile pull onto her face. He was twelve in this picture. That was eleven years that she had been dead. _She_ should have been the one taking him to get his school books, along with James. _She_ should have been the one watching as James and Harry stared at the new broomstick in the Quidditch Supplies store. Instead, he probably had to go by himself, with no one to help him. He probably had no one to teach him what electives to consider, and how Divination was rubbish.

She lifted up the next one, and was about to put it aside when she saw the title.

_Sirius Black Escaped Azkaban!_

_It was discovered that Sirius Black, the betrayer of the Potters, has escaped the high-security cell on Azkaban where he has resided since 1981. He is believed to be heading for Hogwarts, most likely to attempt to kill Harry Potter, and finish his work. Black was believed to have been the right-hand man of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. The Minister has authorized that the Dementors of Azkaban be placed around the grounds of Hogwarts as a precaution._

_For more information on the Dementors go to page 3_

_For more information on Sirius Black go to page 4_

Lily felt like vomiting. Sirius had been is Azkaban for twelve years? There was no way that he was entirely sane; even six months were enough to snap a person's mind. If he had at least some of his sanity, it would have killed him to know that people believed him to be out to kill his godson. The next one she looked at was dated from about two months, November 1st.

_Harry Potter: Fourth Champion_

_Yesterday was the day that the champion for the Triwizard Tournament were selected using the Goblet of Fire, and everyone was surprised when not three, but four names were given! The fourth one was Harry Potter. Many believe that he has cheated his way into the Tournament. Is it true?_

_For more information on the Triwizard Tournament go to page 4_

Lily's hands shuddered as she placed the newspaper down. The Triwizard Tournament? She knew all about that. James and Sirius had tried to get it reinstated in their seventh year; however, it hadn't gone through. But the fact that it was being held again, and her _son_ was in it…that was another story. It was horrible dangerous, and a third of its competitors had _died_. James had always joked about how many rules Harry would break when he was older, and she had laughed, but now that she learned that he may have gotten himself into something like this she found it _not_ funny _at all_.

The next article was written by Rita Skeeter, and Lily wrinkled her nose up at it. The woman was a vulture, even before. Lily had seen her write vitriol about anyone she disliked or that her employer disliked. Lily was about to toss it when she caught one of the figures in the moving picture.

It was Harry again, though now fourteen. He looked so much like a teenage James it hurt. He was taller now, and his baby fat was nonexistent. He was standing near three other teenagers, though they all looked older than him, and all three looked annoyed at something. She wondered if Rita Skeeter had been there. As she skimmed the article she decided that she was right to skip it; it was just garbage by Rita about Harry being a vain weepy brat. Then again, for all Lily knew he was just that. It was so hard for her to realize that her son was a virtual stranger to her.

She was nearing the bottom of the pile now. Then came an article that caused her to pause as the saw it. **Harry Potter, Human or Not?** 'They asked me if I was human,' she remembered with a frown. 'Why on Earth would they need to ask that?' So she read the article.

When she was done, it felt like the entire Earth had been thrown off of its axis. Her mind was thrown back to when she took her heritage test in Gringotts. She hadn't felt the need to check anything other than names, but now she realized that she should have. Never, never in a million years would she have guessed that she wasn't even human. A Lamia…she had read about them once, in the same book that Harry had. She also knew all about magical creature blocks; horrible things, really.

At the same time she was elated beyond belief. She finally had a real piece of him, aside from a picture! This interview allowed a peek into how his mind worked. She felt her lips involuntarily pull into a smile as she looked back at the picture. Now she understood Amelia's proclamation of him being the 'most handsome boy in school'. He truly looked it. Not that he didn't look anything like James, but now it was less pronounced, and mixed in with what were most likely features from her side.

Harry's face wasn't as long as James's, which James had gotten from his mother Dorea Black. His jawline was defined and strong, while James had a less pronounced one. Harry's nose was James's, while the eyes were still like hers. Harry had what would qualify as 'rugged good (well, much more than good) looks', while James had more of a smooth swimmer's look and build. He was fourteen, but he could pass for seventeen if he wanted. As sad as it was that he looked like a grown man, she felt powerful pride surge in her chest. She wished with all her heart that James could be there with her to see the man that her son was becoming; he would be so proud, just like her.

She reluctantly put down the picture of her son as she eyed the following articles. They were all interviews of Harry by Rita Skeeter. As she began to read she absently wondered how he had gotten her on his side.

* * *

Voldemort was furiously trying to gather magical energy as he floated through a forest in Northern Ireland. Whatever had gone wrong in his resurrection ritual had flung him far, due to him not being tangible. He had fled to Ireland, because he knew that no one would ever believe him to be there. He had only been able to snag a smidgen of magical power before the explosion, and he was currently trying to use it as a base to accumulate more. Without a servant, he would have to regain a body himself. Luckily, Horcruxes were intended to be used just as preservatives; he hated relying on other people. He would just need either a soul-less body or enough magical energy to reform a body. He cursed himself for not pre-preparing a safe-house with the preparations ready. Fortunately, there was an intense magical time called the Schism approaching, which might provide enough energy for him.

_"You and me both,"_ a voice suddenly intoned in his head. Voldemort made ready to flee, expecting an attack, but the voice just chuckled. _"Don't even bother. There is no way that you can ever escape _me_."_

"Who are you?" Voldemort asked, bringing forth his magic in case he needed to defend himself.

The voice laughed again_. "Don't even bother. There is no way that your puny attacks can ever harm me. As for my name…you can call me Černá_ _duše."_

"Black soul," whispered Voldemort, understanding the Czech. He was, for the first time in a very long time, afraid.

_"Good."_ Hissed the voice. _"You should be afraid."_

"W-Why have you contacted me?" asked Voldemort. He may have been afraid, however, that did not mean that he was foolish, or unable to see a potentially useful opportunity.

_"You…have use to me. I am…much like you. I am a soul without able form. However, unlike you, I am not a mere mortal."_

Voldemort bristled. "I am not mortal!"

_"No…you are not, in the basest terms, mortal. I know all about your soul pieces, little human. I, however, am truly immortal. I was hailed as a deity by your ancestors, thousands of years ago. But then I was trapped in a moment of weakness. Yet I can soon free myself. As you know, the time of the Schism approaches. When it comes I will be able to fuse my soul with another, giving me form and them power imaginable."_

"Me…," breathed Voldemort. "You want me to, what, be your Avatar?"

_"Yessss. Your splitting of the soul has…made space for me. My power would restore you to physical form. Your soul and mine will be fused, and nothing will be able to stand in our way. Your world and mine will fall."_

"Your world? So…you are from another world? How do I know that the ones who trapped you will not come for me?"

_"Clever little human, clever. Yes, I am from another world. A world parallel to yours. You do not need to know anything else. It is my world that I want; Earth's fate doesn't matter to me. As for the ones who entombed me, they are all but gone. The last of the line are young and inexperienced. Killing them will be simple."_

"Černá duše…why should I join you? I can regain my body easily enough, and then I can destroy my enemies."

_"Oh, is that so? Then, what of the prophecy?"_

Voldemort would have frozen if he had a body. "How do you know of that?"

_"I see all things. The prophecy…without me will mark your destruction. You will die at the hands of the one who banished you."_

"Potter is a mere child," spat Voldemort. "He cannot defeat me!"

_"No…he is no mere child. You know not who you speak of. He will defeat you, and I will remain trapped for eternity. However, if we join, the prophecy will become null. Prophecies cannot affect higher beings such as me."_

Voldemort pondered for a moment. This was literally a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. A deity was going to help him destroy his enemies. "I…accept."

* * *

Lily was so furious that she was nearly foaming at the mouth. How _dare_ that old man send Harry to the Dursleys! He explicitly defied the Will that he himself had witnessed! Harry was to go to an orphanage before the Dursleys, didn't that say something? And the way that her adoptive sister and her bastard husband had treated Harry! She had never been the type to wish torture or pain on someone, but at the moment she was perfectly willing to give the Cruciatus a try as long as she could practice it on them.

She had also decided that, as soon as she got Harry, the first thing that she would to would be to go straight to Gringotts and have the blood block placed on her dissolved. The picture of Harry as a Lamia was truly incredible. It was shocking to think that she could look like that. The second thing would be to go find Severus and, in front of everyone in the Great Hall, slap him across the face as hard as she possibly could. He had been her best friend as a child, and she knew that he had loved her. But the fact that, not only did he bully her son as the Marauders bullied him, he gave Harry nonexistent negative thoughts about James when he had no image of the man was enough to make her furious. Yes, James had been a bully until his sixth year, but he had grown up. Severus hadn't, and _he_ had been the one to call her a mudblood after all. Lastly, she would go to Potter Manor and collect the portrait of James that would have activated on his death. She wondered is hers would have activated as well.

She lay down on the cot, holding the picture of Harry torn from Rita's first interview tightly in her clenched fist. All the emotional turmoil had tired her out, and she was ready to sleep. As her eyes fluttered shut and she felt herself slipping into the world of sleep she smiled, anticipating meeting her wonderful son, now a young man, hopefully the next day.

* * *

Caledon gasped as he read the missive he had just received from a woman named Amelia Bones. He, his son Myron, and his grandson Harry were all in his massive villa in Greece. He had taken Harry directly there after the kidnapping. Dumbledore had tried to stop them, but stood down when Caledon gave him his strongest glare. It took all his willpower to keep from murdering the man. As much as people doubted him thanks to Harry, he still wielded a large amount of political power. It was night of the 23rd, and only he was still awake.

_Dear Mr. Lamas_

_My name is Amelia Bones, Head of the DMLE, magical law enforcement in Britain. This letter concerns what we found when we visited the site where Harry's kidnapper took him._

_We found a body there. However, it was not a Death Eater's or even Voldemort's. No, it was the still breathing body of your daughter, Lily Potter._

_We took her back to the Ministry and placed her in a holding cell. She woke up this morning. I have questioned her under Veritaserum, and the results were startling. She is, in fact, Lily Potter. The Minister is now having her Death Certificate revoked._

_Now I shall venture into a slightly personal nature. I knew Lily before her death, and her knowledge matched up with dates perfectly. She knew about being adopted, but not species. She also used her adoptive name to introduce herself, which shows that she is used to using it. Anyone else would have said Lamia if it was faked, for nearly all of magical Britain now knows of Harry's species._

_I would like to request that you come to the Ministry tomorrow morning so that we can finalize the revoking of the Certificate, get the correct information placed in the Daily Prophet, and, most importantly, have you introduced to her._

_I hope to see you tomorrow,_

_Amelia Bones_

_Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement_


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N: I dedicate this chapter to boop-oop-ee-doo, author of my favorite story: ****Tales Of The Prince of Cool Bowties  
Doctor Who fans check it out!**

******Guest: As flattering as it is that you keep sending me these _Please Update_ notices (and believe me, it is flattering) I am not always able to write. I write on my free time. My quick updates were due to a heavy snowstorm that we had, making it nearly impossible for anyone to leave their houses.**

* * *

Caledon fidgeted slightly as he waited in Amelia Bones's office for her to return so that she could escort him to the holding cell where his daughter was. He was extremely nervous; the last time he had seen her she had been only a few months old, and now she was grown with a son of her own. He absently wondered if this is how she felt when she learned that her baby was now only seven years younger than her. Actually it must be worse for her; apparently it felt like no time had passed. It was like her son had grown up instantly.

He had arrived at nine in the morning, and it had taken just over three hours to complete the process of Lily being reinstated among the living, organize the press release, and to retrieve her Will. They needed to verify who she was and that, using the Will, she could regain certain items and possessions.

Rita Skeeter had been surprisingly helpful when it came to the press release. After the articles that she had written from Harry's interview were released, her popularity had skyrocketed, as had her paycheck, due to her being on commission. She was completely and entirely willing to write an article for Harry's grandfather. They had only released the basic details: that a Death Eater was attempting to resurrect Voldemort, and due to a miscalculation had revived Lily Potter. They had touched on the fact that it was only possible due to Lily's sacrifice. People would, no doubt, be much more inclined to believe that Lily had been the one to stop Voldemort now that they knew she wasn't a muggleborn. Now that they knew she was, in fact, a Lamia, they would be perfectly willing to accept her as the means to their peace. The public opinion was annoyingly fickle, especially when it came to an individual's genealogy.

The retrieving of the will from Gringotts, however, had taken a bit longer. According to the goblins the Potter will had been sealed by Albus Dumbledore within an hour of their deaths. He had been able to do it by using his status of Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, along with him having been one of the witnesses for it, alongside Alice and Frank Longbottom. It was only accessible to Caledon due to him being a family member.

Apparently, Dumbledore had completely ignored the Will. Harry hadn't gone to any of the people that he was supposed to; they had, in fact, clearly stated that under _no_ conditions was he to go to the Dursleys. They added a clause that an orphanage in Northern Russia was a better option! The downside was that Dumbledore had used the excuse of 'extenuating circumstances' to say why he had it sealed. He said that the Potters' choices were too susceptible to Death Eater attacks. As if a muggle house was safe against the masters of the Dark Arts. Any protection based off the sacrifice of love would need to be fueled by love, coming from a blood relative. Petunia was no blood relative, and, even if she was, she had no love for Lily.

Caledon honestly had nothing against the Dark Arts. Now, he wasn't one to condone what atrocities the Dark Lords had wreaked with them, but that didn't make them all evil. The laws concerning magic were far different in Greece. They believed that all magic is a divine gift, whether in a magical child or a muggle child, and there is no reason that the knowledge shouldn't be shared. There was no illegal magic in Greece. They had heavy restrictions on many, and if there were then you would need a permit, but they were still usable. The idiot British wizards sliced an entire branch of magic off of their school planners, which would cause future imbalance in the magical world. There was a reason that there were creatures such as Acromantulas and Boggarts alongside Unicorns and Phoenixes. They balanced each other.

His train of thought was interrupted as the door to the office swung open and Amelia Bones stepped in. She stood by the door and nodded to him. "We're all set. The article has been written up and it will be published in the Daily Prophet tomorrow. As for now, you are free to take her home."

Caledon swallowed and stood, nervously switching his cane back and forth between his hands as he followed Amelia out of the room. He kept his eyes focused straight ahead as they walked down the corridors to the holding chamber where Lily was, and when they stopped his breath hitched slightly as he looked through the wall, which was see-through from the outside.

'She looks just like Medea,' was his first thought. And indeed Lily did, even sleeping. Of course, a large part of that could be contributed to the block. The same reason that Harry originally looked like a near clone of James; when the magical creature block was initiated it also closed off many of the inherited genes. Lily only had his red hair because it was a major trait, and she wasn't born with the block like Harry; hers was placed on her. The same way that Harry now looked a good deal like Myron, she might look more like him.

"Are you ready?" Amelia asked. He took a deep breath and nodded. Amelia stepped over to the blue circle next to the door and touched the tip of her wand against it. Suddenly a section of the wall was outlined and slid up and out of sight.

He stepped in as Amelia walked away to give them some privacy. Lily's head was lolled to the side, facing him, and her red hair a few shades lighter than his was splayed out across the thin pillow. Her fists were clenched around a small scrap of paper most likely torn from one of the newspapers lying all over the ground. He quietly moved the newspapers from the chair and sat down in it. Ever so slowly, with his hand trembling very slightly, he reached forward and laid a hand on her head. She mumbled something in her sleep and shifted slightly.

"L-Lily," he whispered, laying a hand on her shoulder. "Lily." He shook her slightly. Her brow furrowed as she moved her head around, and her eyes began to slowly blink open. His breath caught as he saw her beautiful green eyes, just like his own.

"Who are you?" she asked with a frown.

Caledon ignored the pang in his chest as she asked. "Here, let me help you up." He pulled her up into a sitting position from where she was lying down. She was still eyeing him warily. "My name is Caledon Lamas. You may have heard my name before."

Her eyes widened and her jaw slackened. "B-But that means-"

"Yes, Lily," he said with a soft smile. "I'm your father." She looked like she had just been hit by a two-by-four. "You wouldn't remember me; after all you were taken when you were just a baby." He shuddered in remembrance. "I looked for you, but I never thought that you would be placed with a muggle family." He gently laid a hand on her shoulder, smiling at her. "You look so much like your mother."

She just stared at him, eyes the size of dinner plates. "B-But that's impossible! How?"

He smiled sadly. "You were taken from us. When you were just a little baby. But now…" He leaned forward slowly and gently wrapped his arms around her. She was still frozen in shock, and it was easy for him. "I've found you."

* * *

Harry gave a deep chuckle as Myron scowled and flung his hand of cards down on the table between them. Myron had elected to teach Harry how to play poker when they got bored and were deciding how to divvy up the cookies that Myron, and evidently Harry as well, loved. Apparently, while Harry sucked monumentally at chess, his skills at poker were paramount. Myron had lost four times in a row already, and he hadn't won once. All his cookies were gone, now replaced with IOU's.

"I don't get it!" he whined as Harry smirked, putting down another winning hand. "How the hell are you so good at this? I've been playing poker since I was your age and you've beaten me every time!"

Harry shrugged. "Maybe it is a Potter gift." He shot Myron a cocky smirk. "Or maybe you just suck."

Myron grumbled under his breath before sighing and shrugging. Harry laughed loudly as Myron scowled at him. "By the way, have you ever considered what you would want to be after Hogwarts?" Myron asked before leaning back in his chair.

Harry blinked slightly at the quick subject change before the question sank in. "Careers, you mean? Oh, um…I'm not sure. I honestly haven't put much thought into it. I mean, if you asked me a few months back I would have said Auror, to be like my dad, but now I don't really know. I have spent years having Voldemort hunt me down like a crazed collector, and in hindsight going into a career where I hunt down more crazies is not what I want."

Myron nodded in agreement. "It is good that you are aware of choices and consequences. There is that witty muggle saying…what was it? Hindsight is always twenty-twenty, I believe. Very true. So, what have you considered? Even in passing."

Harry leaned back, looking up at the ceiling. "Erm, definitely not working for the Ministry. They have only shown themselves to be mostly all corrupt old busybodies with no mind of their own. Even if I wasn't one, I would still have to answer to them. Look at Fudge!" Harry tapped his fingers against the table for a moment. "I think…that I would like to be a Healer. Throughout my own childhood I saw lots of people with no one to help them when they were in trouble, and I knew the feeling. Back in primary school I wanted to be a doctor—a muggle version of a healer."

Myron smiled sadly as he stared at his nephew. He, and his father as well, regretted not being able to find Harry earlier. If they had he could have grown up in luxury and happiness, not treated like a slave. Not for the first time he wished that he could have killed the Dursleys. But, like his father had said, it wasn't right for him to stoop to their level. They would win, even if they didn't know it.

"Enough of these gloomy thoughts," said Myron loudly, stirring Harry from his musings. "The day is young, the sun is shining, and we are just a few miles from a sunny tourist town." He stood up and stretched before holding his hand out to his nephew. "Come along, nephew mine; let me show you the sights. And by sights I mean pretty features and hot tourists."

A smile blossomed on Harry's face as he took his uncle's hand and stood. "Very well then. Please, lead the way off to this thrilling adventure." They laughed as Myron tugged Harry out the front door and off towards the town.

* * *

_There were miles and miles of dead bodies. The once rich and vibrant fields were now barren and burnt, where the blood of hundreds ran through trenches like water in a stream. The sky was black with smoke, obscuring any natural light, and there was the smell of decay in the air. For most people this place would be Hell._

_The dead people scattered all over the land were soldiers, obviously. They wore armour that must have once been a gleaming white, lined with gold, but were now filthy. Their helmets were done like intricate portraits, with engravings and markings unique to everyone, fitting perfectly. Their various weapons—swords of old, magical staves, Enchanter's Gauntlets, and even the occasional Eternity Band—lay shattered and useless in the dirt, power lost with the life force of their masters._

_It stood in the middle of the field, weak but still barely able to hold itself steady. It was exceptionally powerful, almost to the range of what mortals would call a deity, but even It could not win an battle singlehandedly and come out unscathed. Its last attack had been draining, even if It did kill the last of them._

_Suddenly It felt a large tug on the energy around it. It cast Its magical vision around, and felt a burning sensation around the area. It slowly opened Its physical eyes, looking for the source of the disturbance. Its gaze rested on a small pyramid-shaped object a little bit in front of It. The object was small, easily enough to fit in Its hand. The object was levitating just below Its eye level and rotating slowly. There was a pulsing blue light emanating off of the object, and It instinctively wanted to shy away from it._

_"Your reign of terror ends here," said a deep voice. It turned to the side, and was shocked to see the Emperor of the enemy forces here. The man was wearing dirty robes the color of the sky from Earth; a beautiful, crystalline blue. His face was dirty and tear-streaked, dark hair matted, and he was breathing deeply. He did not look like a ruler at all._

_"You are wrong," rasped Its voice. "My rule is only beginning." The voice was like stone itself speaking; grating, dry, and hard to listen to. But there was an undercurrent of unknown power, an almost seductive allure._

_The Emperor smiled sadly as he raised a clenched fist. "I'm afraid not. This is the end." He uncurled his fist. "For the both of us."_

_Its eyes (both magical and real) widened as it beheld the device which the Emperor held. "NO!" It cried, lunging out with all Its magical power. But it was too late. The Emperor clenched his fist, and it was like the entire world froze for a moment. All sound ceased, all movement stopped._

_And then an explosion ripped itself across miles of empty land, incinerating everything and anything in its path. There was an unearthly screech as the Being feared across worlds was torn to pieces, atom by atom. The Emperor gave a small smile as he felt himself be torn apart as well. 'It was worth it,' he thought._

* * *

Lily gave Caledon a teary smile as she pulled back from yet another hug. There had been lots of tears and emotional breakdowns in the past few hours, as Caledon and Lily traded stories. Caledon regretted missing her childhood and her greatest moments, the things that a father wanted to see. Lily missed having a family that was truly hers, and most of all she missed her son.

"So, what now?" asked Caledon after a moment. His eyes were slightly red, though Lily knew that hers were most likely much worse.

A watery laugh burst from her chest as she pondered the statement. _Everything_ came next. She had so much to see, so much to do. So much to catch up on. "Now?" she gasped as she wiped her eyes with a handkerchief that he handed to her. "Now we go see my son."

* * *

Caledon and Lily flooed into his office from the Ministry, mostly so they wouldn't give the other two residents of the house heart attacks. Leaving the Ministry had been surprisingly easy; the news hadn't yet broken to the public. They were going to tell Harry and Myron before the Daily Prophet came out the next day, so there would be no unwanted surprises.

"Here we go, steady now," whispered Caledon as he helped Lily steady herself.

She chuckled slightly. "I have always been terrible at floo travel."

He smiled. "Harry appears to lack proficiency in that area as well." He crept over to the door, beckoning Lily to follow him. They crept down the hall and over to the balcony overlooking the living room from the second floor, but they were surprised to see no one there. "Where are they?"

Lily opened her mouth to suggest that they might be outside—it was only just getting dark after all—when they heard loud laughing. They shot each other confused glances before heading to the nearest window. They could see two figures hurrying up the driveway, one pursuing the other. The one in front ran for the door and hurried in, the other one on his heels.

"Harry!" came the voice of Myron. Lily and Caledon went back to the spot looking down on the living room as the two guys came in. Harry was the one in front, and just as he reached the living room Myron ran up and pushed him into the couch, both of them laughing.

"You should have seen your face!" Harry wheezed as he laughed. "It was priceless!"

Myron tried to scowl, but he too was smiling. "Well how was I supposed to know the guy was gay? I was just trying to flirt with the girl, but he thought it was _him_!"

Harry burst into laughter again. "And then when you tried to get away? HA!" He cracked up again as Myron blushed.

Caledon looked over at his daughter and saw her gaze fixated on Harry. He gently took her arm and pulled her towards the stairs. She protested for a moment before realizing what was about to happen and complying. Caledon walked down the stairs, Lily hidden from view by the wall. The stairs emerged in the living room, and the two laughing males looked up at him.

"Dad!" cried Myron. He grinned at him. "How did your boring political stuff go? Considering it took most of the day…"

Caledon could see Harry looking over curiously, so he cut right to the chase. "Actually, I have someone who I would like to introduce. Myron, Harry." He turned to look at the stairs, where Lily was now descending. "Let me introduce my daughter and your mother, Harry. Lily Adriana Potter."

* * *

**A/N: Please point any errors, and I will be quick to fix them.**


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N: I re-wrote this chapter like five times, never quite liking it. I think that this is my best version.**

**Also, did you know that we really don't get a clear picture of what Lily looks like? James looks like Harry, but Lily? Try searching her online. Lots of different images. Even Amelia Pond!**

* * *

For Harry, it was like all the air was suddenly sucked from the room, leaving it as a vacuum. He felt like he couldn't breathe as he stared at the beautiful redheaded woman who was reaching the bottom of the stairs. There was no way to bring back the dead; it was a well-known fact in magic. But that his grandfather was here, proclaiming it to be her…

Lily felt her pulse quicken as she stared at Harry for the first time. Sure she had seen his in the picture, but now she was really _seeing_ him, face to face. 'My baby has gotten so big,' she thought. In fact, he couldn't be called that. He was tall, taller than James was at that age, more like her father. He apparently got as much from her side as he did from James's, albeit not from her directly. He had her father's height, her brother's rugged outdoorsy good looks, and his hair didn't seem to be black but a very dark red. But it was more untamable, though not as bad as James's. His face bore many of his father's features along with his uncle's, however.

Myron stood form the couch, and with three strides he was leaning in towards her face. His teeth were bared, their pointed tips flashing. "What is this?" he hissed. "How _dare_ you impersonate my sister!"

Caledon gently laid a hand on Myron's arm. "Myron," he said softly. "It isn't a lie. She really is here. Voldemort tried to resurrect himself, but he brought her back instead."

Myron's eyes widened in shock and he staggered back. "W-What?"

Lily nodded hesitantly. "Back…when I…died…my soul didn't leave." She hesitated, looking at her son. Harry's face was as white as a sheet, and he was shaking slightly, but she plowed on. "I used soul magic to save Harry, and it…bound…my soul to his. Voldemort accidentally brought me back, instead of himself."

Myron's face was completely white, and his entire posture radiated astonishment. She looked at Harry, and his reaction was the opposite. It was like he had closed himself off. His face was black, his eyes unfocused. Lily walked over slowly, quashing the urge to gather him up in her arms and hold him tightly. "Harry?" she asked softly, laying a hand on his arm.

He jerked back, eyes wide, and did the last thing that anyone expected. He fainted.

* * *

Severus woke up with a dark glare in his eyes and a heavy feeling in his heart. A heavy feeling that he had felt ever since he had made the mistake of revealing the prophecy to the Dark Lord and sending the psychotic bastard after Lily and Potter.

He shuddered slightly as he sat down to eat his breakfast. Lily had married Potter, not him. He had loved her. If only he hadn't called her that despicable name when they were young. Perhaps he could have been the one she fell for, not Potter. But he would prefer that she be with Potter than her being dead.

He shot a glare at the House-Elf that had brought the morning paper, and it disappeared with a terrified squeak and a loud _pop_. He unfurled it, hoping that there wouldn't be another article waxing on about the greatness of Harry bloody Potter. The title froze his blood.

_Lily Potter is Alive!_

_In an absolutely unbelievable turn of events, we have just learned that Lily Potter, mother of Harry Potter, is alive! Not only that, but she was brought back in a mistaken attempt to revive the greatest evil wizarding Britain has ever faced, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named._

_Several days ago, during the Yule Ball for the Triwizard champions at Hogwarts, Harry Potter was kidnapped. Until now we have been unable to get a true story of where he was taken, but now we do. Apparently a rogue Death Eater had broken into Hogwarts to kidnap Mr. Potter. They then portkeyed to a undisclosed location, where they had prepared a Dark ritual intended to resurrect the Dark Lord._

_Yes, I am horrified to say, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is not truly gone._

_However, what they did not account for was the sacrifice of Lily Potter. While we do not know how exactly she did it, we do know that Lady Potter performed powerful sacrificial magic to save her son on that Halloween night. The Death Eater, whose name we do not know, accidentally latched onto this magic. Somehow that spell used Lady Potter's preserved soul to protect her son, and instead of bringing back the soul of the Dark Lord Lily Potter was restored._

_Her identity has been confirmed by Ministry officials. She is currently staying with her family and son. We all wish her the best._

Severus collapsed from his seat and onto the floor as he gripped the paper in shock. Impossible. There was no way that this could be true. No magic could restore the dead.

A broken sob tore itself from his throat. She was alive! His beautiful Lily was alive! It just proved how amazing she was if she could defy the very laws of death itself. He _knew_ that it wasn't anything special about the Potter spawn.

He gasped in shock as he realized that this meant. Lily was here, she was back…and Potter didn't come back too. Which meant that Potter couldn't pull her away from Severus again.

He hugged the paper to his chest as he sobbed. Even better than the rest of it was that she could forgive him. That crushing guilt of years past could finally be gone.

* * *

"Lord James sir! Lord James sir!" cried a House-Elf, dashing through Potter Manor as fast as its stubby little legs could go. It skidded to a stop once it reached the Family Hall, the backbone of the manor.

The hall stretched across the entire manor from north to south. Several hallways branched off of it, and you could get to anywhere in the manor through it. However, the main feature of it was the dozens of portraits lining the walls. All were portraits of previous Lord and Lady Potters, stretching all the way back for centuries.

The newest addition to the hall looked up from where he had been playing a game of poker with his grandfather. His glasses were slightly askew and his messy hair was even more rumpled than usual. "Dippy? What is it?"

Dippy the House-Elf skidded to a stop in front of the portrait. In his hands was the most recent Daily Prophet, the title clearly displayed. "Lord James needs to know that Dippy saw Mistress Lily's name in the paper. Dippy decided that Lord James needed to know right now."

James's eyebrows shot into his hairline. The excitable House-Elf had never deemed it necessary for him to see a newspaper before. He was honestly quite bored. Nothing ever happened here. Lily's portrait hadn't activated, showing that she must be alive, but she had never come to the Manor to live here or to retrieve his portrait. He could only conclude that something had to have happened.

"Can you levitate it up here for me to see?" he asked, moving to get a better view. Dippy nodded and snapped his fingers, sending the paper up into the air in front of the portrait.

James's hazel eyes scanned the article, growing wider with every paragraph. "Shit!" he swore.

"Language James!" called Charlus Potter from across the hall.

James ignored his father, instead losing himself in thought. This would perfectly explain what had happened. Good lord, had it already been fourteen years? "Dippy, do you have any other newspapers with articles concerning Harry Potter?"

Dippy nodded hesitantly. "Dippy thinks so. Yes, there was at least one paper with Lord James's little boy's name on it. But Dippy didn't think you would want to know!" Dippy began to yank on his ears furiously. "Bad Dippy! Bad!"

"Stop punishing yourself Dippy!" commanded James quickly. "It's fine. Just…bring me the papers, alright?" Dippy nodded and popped away.

"Excitable little thing," commented Leonard Potter, James's grandfather.

"He is," mused James, not really paying attention to the conversation. Harry was in the papers. Well that would certainly be an interesting read. James couldn't help but be curious as to what they would say.

* * *

Lily waited anxiously at the kitchen table for Harry to come downstairs, her hands twisting the napkin around and around until it was a tight wad.

"Calm down," said Myron, reached out to calm his sister's frantic hand movements. The two of them had a very interesting discussion, late into the night, about themselves and each other. Both were eager to meet the sibling that they never knew. In Lily's case she wanted to meet a sibling who was actually _nice_.

"What if he hates me?" she whispered morosely. Honestly if Harry did she wouldn't blame him. She had been missing for over a decade, and now he finds out that she is alive. Circumstances aside it would be difficult for anyone.

Myron shook his head. "Harry won't hate you. However, it will be very hard for him. From what I have seen he is cautious to get close to people." His gaze flicked over her shoulder for a moment. "Just…don't try to be his mother. Not yet. Don't ask him to call you Mum or anything. Just let him get to know you first." He leaned in closer to her. "Good luck."

Lily was about to ask what he meant, but the answer came when she heard a chair pull out behind her. She turned and saw Harry sitting down near her. She could have sworn that the chair had been closer to her before.

Harry was loading up his plate with bacon, eggs, and toast from the serving plates, steadfastly ignoring Lily. He even avoided looking at her as he started to eat. It seemed like he was going to pretend she didn't exist.

'Take it slowly,' she told herself. 'He doesn't know you.' "Harry?" she said softly.

Harry froze, fork halfway to his mouth and laden with eggs. He stayed perfectly still as she watched him.

She decided that it would be better safe than sorry. She held out her hand in the typical formal greeting. "It's nice to meet you. Again, I should say. I'm Lily Potter."

The fork slipped from his hand and landed on the plate with a clatter. He looked at her hand with nervous anticipation before slowly reaching out and taking it. "Er…nice to meet you."

She gave him a weak smile as she nodded. Then she turned and began to put food on her own plate, acting completely carefree. She noticed that Myron had slipped away at some point. "I know that this is very difficult for you, Harry. Don't feel obligated to do anything."

Harry took a sip of his milk as he nodded. He seemed to be avoiding talking as much as he could.

"You can just call me Lily for now." Oh God, it hurt to say that. It was worse than anything she had ever felt.

Harry obviously didn't feel that emotional turmoil as he nodded again. "Alright…Lily."

They sat in silence for a few more minutes as they ate. Lily tried to stare at Harry without _looking_ like was staring. Not that Harry would have noticed; he was lost in his own thoughts.

For his part Harry was completely freaking out on the inside. 'I mean, how am I supposed to handle this?' he thought. 'There is no manual for what to do after your dead mother comes back to life after being gone for thirteen years.' A part of him, a very large part, wanted to hug her tightly and call her 'Mum'. However, he also couldn't do that. He didn't know her. That title wasn't for her, not yet. For now she couldn't be his mother. He wasn't ready for that. But, he hoped, one day he could be.

"Can you tell me a little bit about yourself?" asked Lily as a way of an icebreaker. "Maybe a bit about when you were at Hogwarts?" Best not to ask about Petunia. There was no way he would talk to a virtual stranger about his horrible childhood.

Harry swallowed before beginning. "Well, Hogwarts is incredible. It was totally surreal for me to go from the muggle world to the world of magic…but I guess you can understand that." He gave her a small smile which lightened her heart. "But it's dangerous as well. In my first year, we there was a troll…"

* * *

Lily sat up with a gasp, her chest heaving. Dear Merlin that had _hurt_! It was like her blood had been replaced with acid!

"Here," said Myron. She blinked and looked up at him. He was smiling and holding out a hand mirror. She took it and gasped as she saw her new reflection.

Her inheritance was utterly breathtaking. While Lily knew that she had been beautiful before, and not ashamed to admit it, now she was utterly breathtaking. Her emerald eyes glowed and sparkled like real gemstones, and her crimson red hair glittered and shone in the light of a thousand candles. Her skin was entirely free of blemishes and her features seemed like porcelain. She had been nervous to see if she would change entirely like Harry had, or if she would suddenly look younger.

That was a big concern of hers. How would Harry begin to accept her as his mother if she looked barely a year older than him? Her father told her that Lamia looked older than they were for their teens, like how Harry looked seventeen. He would look like that for a great deal longer. She was scared of people thinking they were siblings, or worse, _dating_.

However, her worries were clearly unfounded. She did look younger, yes, and a bit more so than she would prefer, but it wasn't so bad. She took after her father in a mature appearance, while Harry took after Myron.

She put aside the mirror to see her legs and a startled gasp escaped her throat. In place of the long legs she was so proud of was a snake tail. She had expected it to be like Harry's but it was different. While his was thick and forest green, hers was thin and a dazzling bright green. She wiggled it slightly, fascinated with the difference in the way it felt.

"Don't worry about clothes," said Myron. "As I explained to Harry, once you do this enough your clothes disappear and reappear like they do for an animagus."

She concentrated and the tail split, shrinking down into human legs. She grinned and tried to stand, but nearly fell over. Her brother—and didn't she prefer him over Petunia!—steadied her quickly. "Easy there," he said. "Your legs are a bit longer. A fair bit, actually. You are nearly six feet tall!"

Lily grinned as she ran her hands down her curvy waist and over her hips. It was incredible having a different body! She really liked being taller.

She cast a glance over at Harry, who was watching her in fascination. When he realized that she saw him he blushed deeply. "What do you think?" she asked.

He blinked, eyes wide. "Uh…it's nice. I never got to see what it looked like when I changed. It was very weird." He paused. "But I changed more than you did."

"Oh, that reminds me!" interjected Myron. "When we get back I am going to be putting you on some potent nutrient potions to buff you up and get rid of the maltreatment of the Dursleys."

Lily's eyes darkened as she thought about the things her adoptive sister had put Lily's son through. "They are lucky that you two already got them," she muttered. "I wouldn't have let them off so easy."

"Don't worry Lily," said her father from behind her. She turned and smiled at him. "The Durselys certainly got what was coming to them." He reached out and gently ran a finger through her hair, smiling. "You look very much like your mother you know."

She smiled up at him. "Really? I do?"

He nodded at her. "Yes. While the emerald eyes and hair may be from me, albeit a lighter shade of hair, your face is just like hers." He smiled sadly. "I wish she was still here."

"What was she like?" asked Lily.

"She was a half-faerie, actually. Her mother was an Irish witch who accidentally stumbled upon one of the rare faerie-folk. They spent much time together, they fell in love actually. But then he had to go leave. He apparently had a duty to fulfill, and faeries live an extremely long time. She was pregnant when he left her." Caledon smiled as he was lost in memories. "I met her in Athens. She was apparently there for a learning vacation. She was fascinated by me, because she had never felt a magical creature like me."

Lily cocked her head to the side in confusion. "Felt?"

"It was her faerie side," said Caledon. "She had powerful magical senses. You may have some latent ones. I know that Myron does."

"Oh."

"We met up several times over the summer that she was there. When it was over I invited her to stay with me over her vacation in a few months…and the rest is history."

"Yea, yea, fascinating," interrupted Myron. He swung an arm around Harry's shoulders. "Can we go now? Shorty here is getting hungry."

"I'm not short!" cried Harry as Myron dragged him away.

Lily just laughed and ran after them. "Hey, wait up!"

* * *

**A/N: I adore writing Myron. He is just so fun!**


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